Little Slugger
by realgirl-imaginarylife
Summary: ON HIATUS - Edward is committed to a secluded double life - by day working as a Customer Service Rep and by night a God of open mic. His coworker Bella is quirky & observant, & her curiosity about Edward may eclipse his need to keep his life private
1. if he could

**Little Slugger**

**Story Summary: AU/AH - Edward long ago committed himself to a secluded double life - by day a Customer Service Rep at a questionable corporate organization, and by night a God of the Open Mic stage. Coworker Bella is quirky and observant, and her curiosity about Edward may eclipse his need to keep his life private.**

**Rating: PG-13/T**

**A/N: I began writing this story as an original screenplay about a year ago, and stalled out about 2/3 of the way in...when I continuously imagined my main duo as E&B, I realized that perhaps it was meant to be a twi-fic all along. Enjoy! **

**Song for this chapter is _By This River_ by Brian Eno.**

**

* * *

**

1 – If He Could

This bar was dark. His favorite kind. The smells and desires of the people inside seemed to swirl around the room, slow and deliberate like a snake guiding a tornado on a secret quest. It flowed serpentine between the beer taps at the bar, dipping below and through the cracks of the sticky wooden floors, and zipped right through the triangle between the heel and toe of shoes far too desperate for a Tuesday.

The jet stream of pure humanity led straight to him. Upon arrival, it danced around him like forest nymphs at play as he sang, giving itself to the moment, becoming something that could only be owned by the spirit of right-this-very-second.

If he could love anything at all, he would love this.

He had a fondness for the cycle, as it had come to be, in his own way. In the way a spider loves the fly it traps in its web, perhaps. Celebrate the success of the capture, eagerly soak in the energy it provides, and then toss the remains aside in disgust…only to crave it all again the next day.

Every night he watched them from the shadows, while he waited in line for his fix. No matter the venue, the scene was always the same - they sit, they drink, they laugh and flirt and sigh. Act after act, they half-listen, tending to their own needs. He couldn't even begin to fault them for it, 'cause he was there for the same reason they were – to pretend that life meant something. Or at the very least, to hold off on the eventual realization that perhaps it means nothing at all.

Something was curiously different about Edward, though. When he strummed, slow and weaving in a long intro, they took notice, disengaging from whatever distraction they had busied themselves with. When he sang, his voice raspy and soulful and palpably stuffed full of old memories he would shield from his world forever if he could, their glasses made subtle clanking sounds as they touched down upon the tabletops, and he felt the energy of two dozen sets of eyes as they moved in unison in his direction, like the spooky antique portraits at an amusement park haunted house.

If he could love anything at all, he would love the way it felt to have all those eyes on him.

They wanted him. They wanted to be him. They wanted his talent, his balls, his ability to tie himself to others with the mere act of offering sounds and words. It was a simple but vital relationship – he let it fly, they soaked it in.

But even more potent than that was how much he needed them. And his whole charade would crumble to pieces if any of the random people in this bar had any idea whatsoever the power that they had over him. They owned him.

In the regular world, these connections might be the beginning of a long and happy relationship between the entertainer and the entertained. But this was Edward's world, and in Edward's world, audience attachment had a simple and absolute response - to never set foot in that bar/club/restaurant/coffee shop again. It was New York City after all, there were plenty of Open Mics to go around, though he had been stretching the pliability of that lately, with outings at least three times weekly.

So while yes, he did make an impression on the people before him, no one, and certainly not Edward, has ever really made the mistake of thinking that Open Mic Night is about the audience.

In this case, though, it also wasn't about high jumping stage fright, or testing the temperature of new material, or proving to yourself that Yes. You. Can. For Edward, it was the only way he knew how to mediate between a past laden with mistakes and regrets, and a future that the boy he once was had dreamed of.

And as a result, he reconciled neither.

He throatily started into the last verse of the last song. He slowed his tempo a tiny bit, to make the moment last, but doubted that they would notice. On this night, as it always eventually did, his moment began its fade. He could feel the sting morphing into a burn as his brief time as Scientist, Superhero, God tapered to a tragic close. For now. One last flick of his wrist echoed the final note through the night.

Sometimes they would cheer or applaud, hoot or holler; some would just gaze after him in wonder. But if they did tonight, he failed to notice. Instead, he stood quickly from the simple, solid wooden chair and made a deft hop from the elevated corner stage to the creaky floor below. He tossed his guitar carelessly into its hard case - he closed, latched, grabbed, and turned on tail in one fluid motion.

If he could love anything at all, he would love this moment of escape.

He made eye contact with no one as he set his sights firmly on the glowing red exit sign that hung like a beacon above twin doors. The rush of cold air slapped him in the face as he pushed the door forward with force, and instantly he was back. To the chill, dark night. To reality.

He pulled a pair of black-framed glasses out of the pocket of his gray flannel pea coat and dropped them onto his nose. It was officially official - no more superhero.

'_Til next time_, he thought with a bitter yet triumphant smirk.

* * *

He awoke groggily the next morning to a gentle but methodical scratching sensation on the side of his face.

_Alice_, he groaned internally, as the reality of the early wake-up call reached his full awareness. He opened his eyes to the sight expected, a pair of blazingly beautiful gold eyes staring back at him with love and expectation. He smiled at her.

"Are you happy now that I'm up?" he asked hoarsely as he lifted his hand out from under the blanket to massage that spot on back of her neck she loved so much. She remained silent, but responded by eagerly nudging the side of her head into his hand with pure adoration. Her eyes mere slits, she rested herself on his torso and snuggled deeply into his chest and neck.

"That's enough, Alice," he said with jest force as he rolled her over to the side of the bed. He hefted his feet onto the floor, and leaned backward towards the window, blindly reaching towards a vintage ceramic planter sitting on the sill and retrieving his glasses from inside it.

He ferociously rubbed the sleep from his face and slid them on. Oh fuck, another day.

Sighing, he glanced out the window at the morning's overcast sky, and gently fingered the withering edge of a leaf on a small ivy plant housed in a simple clay pot atop the bedside table. He turned his eyes from the plant to the neighboring clock, and in that same moment, the digital screen went black for two seconds before leaping back to life, flashing its eternal midnight.

He turned back to Alice, stroking her soft black hair with a smile of admiration.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were psychic. If you hadn't woken me, I would have been late for work." She glanced up at him knowingly, a soft purr escaping her throat. "Where's Jasper?"

As if on cue, Jasper rounded the corner and looked to Edward with sheer anticipation.

"Hungry?" Edward asked him.

The yellow longhaired cat meowed loudly in response.

Edward chuckled at him. "Alright buddy, let's go hunt." He pushed himself to his feet and headed to the kitchen, Alice jumped down after him and the two cats followed swiftly at his feet.

Alice wound between his legs in constant figure eights as he opened a can of food and spooned it into a bowl on the floor, where they both descended, eating savagely while Edward set about making coffee and playing back last night's performance in his head.

_They liked it. They felt it. __**I**__ felt it_. He convinced himself as he tried not to pine for his next opportunity to play – tomorrow night at the Blue Mango, a hip little vegetarian bistro built into the corner of a Downtown parking garage. The place was pretty mainstream, but chock full of seriously good Open Mic energy. He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his already messy hair. Thirty-six hours had a way of feeling like thirty-six year at moments like these.

Shower. Shave. Breakfast. Toothbrush. T-Shirt. Jeans. Old brown, paint-splattered engineer boots. A nice scratch behind each cat's left ear, down under the chin, and a last wanton glance at the guitar case nestled in the corner near the door.

_Tomorrow_, he mused as he grabbed a black and gray checkered flannel off the coat hook and locked the door behind him. _We will reunite tomorrow_.

If he could love anything at all, he would love that promise.

* * *

**A/N: The tone of this chapter is much more drunk & dreamy than will generally be the norm for this story. It was necessary to paint the picture of what the open mic experience is like for our specward. ****Reviews make my world go 'round!**


	2. in the last ten years

A/N:

**Thanks to all for the warm welcome to fic-land…I am hoping for a long and pleasant stay. The six of you that reviewed chapter one at Twilighted are my new favorite six people in all the world. I have a whole new appreciation for reviews after putting a chapter of my own out there. Thank you, thank you, more than six times thank you!**

**I completely made this up, but in this world CCR does NOT equal Creedence Clearwater Revival (ick). Instead, CCR = Consumer Censure Representative, now ya know.**

**And if I failed to mention this earlier, my E&B will be OOC at times. Especially Bella. Because dog garnet, she deserves to be a better character.**

**These two sweet, misunderstood kids are not mine.**

**If you like-ah the tunes, song for this chapter is _Private Idaho_ by the B-52's. I feel groovy just thinking about it.**

* * *

2 – In the Last Ten Years

In the last ten years, Edward had held a series of very similar jobs. Always with companies that had never existed long enough for him to have to quit in order to move along to the next thing. The flavor of the last eighteen months had been Vitamin Direct - the world's virtual leader in discounted online nutritional supplements. What the fancy corporate slogan failed to note was that most of their stock actually came from sell-offs of B-grade merchandise from reputable vitamin companies. The rest was merely floating about in FDA purgatory, waiting to be eventually banned from the shelves.

For a total sham, the office looked like any honest company's might have.

The walls were not quite white, the line of cubicles that transformed the large room into a grid not quite gray, and the looks in each employee's eyes not quite dullish-beige as they sympathetically chanted "I understand" into their wired headsets.

This room was the heart and soul of the entire Vitamin Direct empire - the CCCC, or the Quad-C, C to the Fourth, or in very official terms, the Consumer Censure Call Center. This was Edward's work. He neither enjoyed it nor found any pride in furthering the wrongs of the bogus organization. But in this particular department of this particular company, he felt some peace in lending his ear to those who'd been had by the same greedy suits who fueled his strange addiction. He figured that since companies like this were going to exist anyway, he might as well offer a bit of his good energy to the people who've been screwed over by it.

This was Edward's karmic balance beam.

As an added bonus, the working environment was so emotionally ragged, the employee turnover rate was very high and very fast, which complimented Edward's need for interpersonal disconnect, even off the stage.

Each day he sat reclined in his chair with his street-worn boots resting on the desktop, absentmindedly weaving a pencil between his fingers, half listening to the constant outpouring of grievance while mentally strumming a new tune or replaying some blaze-of-glory moment of an open mic past in his head. He didn't even know the names of any of his coworkers. And he very much doubted that they knew his.

In the last ten years, Edward had pretty much mastered the art of invisibility. Or so he liked to convince himself.

In the room, bits of angry dialogue crept out into the air from the forty or so headsets in the room, coming together and rolling around like train cars of a coaster built of steel and rage.

From a headset in cubicle thirty-six, CCR Michael Newton, an all-American happy-go-lucky sort, fresh off a sports medicine degree, just biding his time waiting for an entry-level opening with the Knicks:

"This is fucking bullshit! I ordered your free trial, paid nine bucks for shipping, the pills did NOTHING, and a month later you con artists charged $79.95 to my Visa without my permission!" Awkwardly stuttering through the provided spiel, Mike managed to sell the customer on a discount for more vitamins.

From a headset in cubicle eleven, CCR Jane Volturi, a tiny blonde in phase one of her long-term plan of total world domination:

"These things were supposed to give me a goddamn hard-on, not give me leg cramps, pain worse than anything I felt in the war, I tell you! I demand some sort of retribution!" First, she offered him her middle finger up to the mouthpiece and then free shipping on all products for a year.

From a headset in cubicle seventeen, one padded wall away from Edward, CCR Isabella Swan, ("Call me Bella"), an energetic young brunette with a artist's sketch pad laying on the table before her:

"Whatever this…'stuff'…is you sent me made me piss green! And I'm not talking about yellowish-green here, I am talking full-on Elphaba-slathered-in-ectoplasm green. I want your boss's email address and I'm going to personally send him a picture of my toilet bowl full of it!"

Bella's already large eyes went even wider with surprise as the request yanked her from her doodle, an intricate cartoon drawing of a cat with a polka dot bow in its hair being violently strangled by a telephone wire. She brought her feet up to a crouch and then slowly rose up on her office chair, wobbling like a toddler with her arms straight out to each side, as she scanned the room for a worthy candidate to receive said photograph. She smirked defiantly as he practically chose himself.

Cubicle twenty-one, CCR Peter L. Green, a know-it-all slacker who made everyone else look bad by wearing a tie to work every day. He wore it loose though. Peter was in the process of convincing a customer that her daily diarrhea couldn't possibly have anything to do with the 1000 mgs of rose hip vitamin C tablets she'd purchased from Vitamin Direct.

The lot had been factory-processed incorrectly. They had everything to do with her raging runs, and he knew it. Welcome to the CCCC.

As Bella's eyes passed over him, they paused and narrowed, watching him gaze at his computer monitor, slowly tracing the body line of a topless model with his mouse cursor. He caught a glimpse of Bella's teetering figure out of the corner of his eye, turned and winked at her suggestively, raising his brows and offering a sly nod towards the janitor's closet. He made no move to disguise the soft-core porn in front of him.

Bingo. Bullseye. Canasta. Eight ball, corner pocket. She winked right back at him.

"Sir, are you still there?" she asked Green Pee Guy. She awkwardly grasped the top of the cubicle wall for support as her chair twisted and turned under her, threatening an embarrassing but not uncommon moment of clumsiness in the calm of the room. On the other side of the wall, Edward half glanced up, pretending not to watch the struggle before quickly looking away as she caught sight and smiled shyly at him, relieved when her butt found its way safely back into its nest.

Bella loved a good mystery, and Edward Masen might just be one.

Out of a general sense of neighborly curiosity (and boredom), she had, over the course of her four months across the wall from him at Vitamin Direct, deduced a few things about him. A, he was potentially deep. B, he was potentially dark. C, he was definitely cute, but D, abnormally disengaged from others.

These findings led her to a series of potential conclusions regarding him. He was clearly A, insane. B, wildly antisocial. C, an ass. or D, hiding something.

She loved making lettered lists to work out her musings. Never numbered, always lettered.

Her first edition copy of The Secret of the Old Clock desperately hoped for D, but Bella tried to let it down easy, convincing it that he was probably just a jerk. She didn't tell the book this, but she'd known a lot of jerks in her life, and this guy wasn't exactly sending out the vibe.

But he was strange. And others seemed equally repelled by him as he was of them. It was subtle, but if you paid attention, it was real. Sitting adjacent to Edward every day for months, she couldn't think of one time when anyone in the office had had any sort of interaction with him. He was good at his job. She had eavesdropped on him performing Olympic-caliber damage control, but aside from taking calls, she had never heard him speak out loud to anyone. He never attended workplace outings, and he mysteriously appeared to schedule all of his doctor's appointments during scheduled staff meetings.

Then, every day at five o'clock sharp, he laid his chin to his chest and walked a straight line to the elevator and out the door.

"Hello! Do you have that email address or what?" came the belligerent cackle from the other end of the headset, interrupting her thoughts.

Oh. Right. Pee Guy.

"Sir, yes sir, I have it right here. I'm sure he'll be very happy to help you. Pen ready? Okay, it's ."

Her hand instinctively flew to her mouth as she gasped. She barked out half a hysterical laugh before quickly snatching her bottom lip between her teeth and whittling it down to a modest snicker.

"P. Green. Oh my God. Wow. Now, is it just me, or is that a crazy coincidence? Sorta like fate!" And then, realizing she'd spewed more than enough, she cleared her throat, "So, umm… I'm sure that he can help you with whatever you need from this point forward. Yeah, so, thanks for calling Vitamin Direct, your online source for discount vitamins and supplements!"

Bella thumbed the big red "End" button on her phone with force, vocalizing her exasperation in a loud sigh-slash-groan that was easily audible to neighboring coworkers. A common reverberation in the CCCC. She reclined back in her chair, closed her eyes, and blindly flung the Ghastly Headset of Great Anger and Wrath loose from her head.

This extreme moment of frustration accidentally projected the headset further than she'd intended. It scaled the cubicle wall and came to rest over on Edward's side.

Edward vaulted backward in surprise, his chair rolling and hitting the side wall of his cubby, making the papers tacked there wrinkle. He sat gawking in horror at the dangling accessory, as if a blood-drained corpse had just been tossed over. He froze as the chime of a musical giggle preceded the sight of a head of shiny chestnut hair and a pair of big brown eyes as they poked over the crest.

Her face was amused. And apologetic. And kind. And a bit uncertain.

"Oopsie!" she blurted, searching his face for some shared sense of humor, "Occupational hazard! Sorry, Edward!" She smiled shyly as she reeled the headset in like a fish by a thin black wire.

Edward didn't move. He appeared rooted in fear or shock. For a moment she actually wondered if he was going to be okay.

"Edward?" she asked tenderly. He twitched. He stared. She stared back, out of sheer mystification.

After half a second too long, he swallowed hard, blinked three times fast, shook his head a bit as if to rid a nagging housefly, and finally spoke, his eyes lingering on hers for another moment before turning them down to his hands with an exhale of relief.

"Well, I've been here a long time Ma'am, and I've never heard of a reaction like that. If I were you, I'd think about calling a doctor."

Bella cocked her head to the side and shot him a questioning look. Definitely option A. Without a doubt.

"A doctor?" she asked dumbly.

He glanced quickly back at her, this time with hard, angry eyes, and his mouth in a thin, stern line. He had obviously completely shaken free of the odd moment of vulnerability a moment ago. He curtly gestured towards his headset.

Oh, right.

"Sorry, Edward, seriously. I didn't mean to…" she offered in a shrill whisper, trailing off as she disappeared back behind the wall. She stuck her hand up over, waved once for good measure and plopped back into her seat, completely flustered. She didn't want to admit it, but she was shaken by him. Perhaps it was A mixed with a bit of C?

She cringed. That would make for one nasty cocktail.

She turned over a page in her notebook and carved out a quick distraction for herself, stroking the beginnings of a new cartoon.

The kitty with the polka dot bow was back, flinging dozens of wired headsets into the air over a cliff side, landing in a massive pile on the ground below. A pile with a head sticking out of it - another cat, this one with messy hair, thick-rimmed glasses and a grumpy brow. It might've turned into a mountain encompassing the cat's head completely, but a flashing green light on her phone beckoned her attention back. She cringed and reached for the blinking button with a slow and shaking finger, afraid to know what might await her on the other end.

"Thanks for calling Vitamin Direct, this is Bella. How may I help you today?"

* * *

That night, Bella couldn't sleep.

Her thoughts drifted about like dandelion fluff, replaying the strange interaction with the strange man on the other side of the wall. The way he'd stared like he'd never seen another human being before, and then afterward, appeared almost, pissed off at her?

Surely it couldn't make someone angry to have a telephone accessory accidentally fly over their wall? Or could it? Was Edward's cubicle some sort of no-fly zone?

_Tomorrow, I will confront him_, she thought with sleepy confidence as fatigue snatched her up, shipping her towards a dreamland filled with polka dots and headset confetti.

* * *

That night, Edward couldn't sleep.

He was appalled by his behavior with the girl at the office. He had no idea what on earth had caused him to lose control of his cool like that, at work of all places. It had never been difficult to avoid interactions in New York. Was he now so effing out of practice with real people that he couldn't even conjure up a few words to keep up the charade?

He was fully aware that she probably thought him a lunatic, ogling at her like a bewildered moron over the ridiculous headset incident. He hoped that perhaps she had taken his bizarre behavior as a sign that he was best when avoided.

Convinced of this new reality, he relaxed down onto the pillow he shared with a curled-up and purring Alice, and he gave her a soft pet and let himself indulge in knowing that tomorrow night he would be on stage again.

_Twenty-four more hours 'til life makes sense again_, he thought, allowing himself to dive heartfirst into the lucid fantasy that always paved his way to sleep.

But as he let the vision materialize, it wasn't himself on a stage, feeling whole and full he saw. Instead, an invader - a pair of chocolate-colored eyes staring back at him through his closed lids, confused and perhaps a little hurt. And he realized then what might be bothering him.

In the last ten years, no one had looked directly at him said his name, Edward, with genuine interest. He had worked hard never to let anyone get that close. Until today.

* * *

**A/N**

**I admit, I don't really know anything about the vitamin sales industry, only that my cousin actually had a job like this once. Though I admit, I cannot imagine him handing these calls with the level of finesse that our friends E & B do. The other details I made up to suit the scene.**

**Tell me about your most peculiar coworker?**


	3. intermission

**A/N: Again, thanks to my few but proud reviewers. Without you, this would be markedly more difficult. For reals. Thanks also to the lovely ladies at Project Team Beta for all the great work they do for the whole Twi-Fic universe.**

**As a reminder, A, insane. B, socially inept. C, an ass. D, hiding something. Oh, Bella and her lists.**

**Song for this chapter is _Kids_ by MGMT**

**xoxo  
**

* * *

3 - Intermission

It might have been an inspiration for the choreographers of the New York City Ballet to be in the office the next day to witness the dance Edward and Bella were performing.

For every step she took towards him, he would take three in the opposite direction. Bella tried to corner him on his way back from the restroom, but without making eye contact, he had swiftly turned on his heels and threw his shoulders to his ears, suddenly opting to take the long way around instead.

At one point, Bella casually stood at the opening of his cube with her hand on her hip, patiently examining her fingernails for some time, knowing eventually the call he was on would have to wrap up. He managed to make it continue for over twenty minutes, offering the customer at least a dozen different discounts, offers and promotions before she finally gave up, throwing her hands in the air and mumbling "Definitely A probably C definitely A probably C," under her breath as she moved down the aisle.

She was likely to go A herself if this silliness kept up for any length of time.

Bella skirted back to her seat and snatched up her trusty number 2. She whipped up a thirty-second rendering of the same kitty with the polka-dot bow, sitting alone at a small café table for two, a mug of dark liquid with three wavy lines hovering above it in front of her. She quickly signed it with her initials, _BMS__,_ in the corner and jumped up, sliding her sunglasses from the top of her head to the bridge of her nose. She tossed the sketchpad, drawing side up onto her vacated chair, and stuffed her coat under her arm. Forcing herself not to glance in Edward's direction en route, she made her way to the elevator.

Intermission. Game paused. It was time for a break.

She sat in the small sunny café, sipping French roast from a huge white porcelain mug for almost an hour. In that time, she made a new sketch featuring Dot and her new spec'd friend. He held a mason's trowel in one paw, and was gazing with pride at the page-high brick wall he'd just built between them. His last name **was** Masen, after all. Dot stood on the other side looking up, now looking angry and defiant. A sledgehammer lay on the ground next to her. Would she pick it up? Bella tapped her pencil on the table, unsure.

As she finished the last details of the new drawing, a few realizations began to set in. A, without coffee, there is really no point to any of this. B, she may have left that drawing on her seat earlier in hopes that a certain someone might stop by and see it. And maybe even decide show up. And C, She really needed to get a grip on herself.

All of this animosity as a result of an overenthusiastic headset toss? Really? Why was she allowing herself to buy into these feelings of anger and hurt and…weakness that this was dredging for her? And what exactly was she even planning to say to him if offered an audience?

"_Hey, why so poopy about the headset thing? Listen, this job sucks enough as it is, let's tea party and not make it any worse than it needs to be, 'kay?. Oh, and by the way, there's a tiny detective who lives in my pocket__,__ and she keeps asking questions about you. And I think she wants to frolic in your hair_."

Bella sighed, staring into the fresh molten refill on the tabletop in front of her as she stirred the liquid around and around in her mug with a spoon. She was suddenly reminded of classic QDT (Quality Diner Time) she had spent with her father before she'd moved out East.

The diner was the only real bond they had shared after, at the age of ten, she had loudly and stubbornly announced her refusal to go on weekend fishing trips with him any more. She hadn't really thought about how he might react to her proclamation, but was unprepared for the look of sheer hurt and loss and…failure on his face. Suddenly ashamed of herself and scrambling, she had quickly blurted out the idea of eating at the local diner together twice a week instead, and he had softened and agreed immediately.

And that's how Bella got stuck eating diner food eight times a month for eight straight years. Every time she thought about cancelling a date with him, she remembered that unmistakable sadness in his eyes, and straight to the diner they would go.

For all that time, she'd sat across from him in the same olive green vinyl booth, watching him stir aimlessly, and sip what then looked to her like dirty old water, promising herself that when she was grown, she would drink something far more dignified than black coffee. Like mocha latte, or margarita. Or Hull Clean.

And yet, there she was, grown, and doing it just like him, stirring away at coffee with no cream or sugar inside. The same anxious habit.

Might as well bait a hook, Sharpie on a mustache, slap on a badge and call her Chief.

Charlie Swan, Bella's father, was head of Police in the tiny town of Forks, Washington. He was charged with the responsibility of keeping all three thousand two hundred and forty six citizens safe, sound and in-line. And he did it well. Bella wondered when the time would come for her to do something well. Aside from drawing cartoon cats and screwing up her coworker relations.

Bella and her dad weren't close in the way that you might expect them to be, considering all they'd endured together. What's a single dad to do once his little girl grows up and moves away? He had cared for her, kept her safe and happy for all of her years, always overcompensating to fill the holes in her world that had been unfairly left for her. But still, after all the shared years (and dinners) together, they never truly broke through the awkwardness that seemed to nestle so comfortably between them the moment Bella had reached teenagerdom.

She went to school, he went to work. He went fishing, she drew cartoons of him returning home with his catch. She read Austen, he read Sports Illustrated. He cleaned his gun, she cleaned the kitchen. That routine had replayed itself thousands of times inside their little white gabled house for eighteen years.

Bella jumped in her seat a bit, jostled from her thoughts by the sound of ringing bells as the café door opened and a tall, gangly man walked in. Her stomach clenched. Then a bright blush spread across her whole body, starting at her cheeks as he passed by her table on his way to the counter. He carried a laptop messenger bag across his chest, was red-haired, freckled and he walked with his head high, with confidence.

It wasn't him.

And if she was being totally honest with herself, there was nary a resemblance. This whole Edward fascination thing was starting to feel like a disease.

And "disease" was an interesting word indeed. Dis. Ease. Removal of ease. She shielded her eyes from the stranger as he exited with his to-go cup in hand, as if he might be able to read her thoughts. When it came to Edward, there clearly was no ease - certainly for her and perhaps even for himself.

Bella bargained herself into one last refill. And a biscotti. Her call log was going to be remarkably sparse today. She settled back into her seat and doodled mindlessly on a fresh page, circles within circles, and forced herself to think about something besides the peculiar man with the profound green eyes and bizarre attitude problem.

She wondered what kind of mundane crime her father was fighting back in Forks right now.

Charlie's fabled wounded puppy dog face had made a reappearance on the night that Bella told him she was moving to New York.

"I just don't understand why you have to go so far away. I hear Peninsula has a pretty good Art program. And, you know, if you wanna be in a bigger city, well then, maybe you could check into the Art Institute of Seattle instead. Please Bella, just consider it, I don't like the idea of you being so far away," he had plead with clear fear and anger in his voice.

But Bella had made her decision. And once made, her mind was a rock solid fortress. "Dad, I need this. I need to do this. I'm eighteen years old, and I want to explore the world on my own for a while. Please, just be supportive, because I'm not going to change my mind."

"I cannot support this Bella. I don't think it's the right thing for you. We have a big city and good art programs right here in Washington. If you honestly want to continue with this..._drawing_ thing, then I really think you should stay close and…"

"Stay close to what, Dad? To you? To Forks? Are you really saying that this isn't the right thing for me, or is this not the right thing for **you**? I am not going to force myself to stay in this stupid tiny town to make you happy and end up feeling stuck here like..." She stopped abruptly, sucking in a deep breath through her nose. Her eyes widened with the realization of where she'd _almost _gone with that.

The look in Charlie's eyes made the rounds between shock, anger, sadness, and...understanding. Eventually, his expression settled on something that appeared to be resigned hurt.

"Dad, I'm sorry, I..." Bella started, ashamed of herself, examining the maze-like grain in the wood floor at her feet instead of daring a look to her father's eyes.

"No, Bells, it's okay. I get it. I do," Charlie said quietly. He nodded his head once and turned around, leaving her alone in the room.

It had been four years since she'd broken her father's heart. He had silently but supportively helped her with the logistics of her move. He'd even come home from work one day with a giant plastic shopping bag from the only nearby department store in Port Angeles. The bag was filled with purple. Purple sheets, pillow cases and comforter. He didn't say anything about it, just left it by her bedroom door, and Bella never mentioned to him how wildly impractical it was to drag an entire bedding set on an airplane across the country. And when her flight had been called over the loudspeaker and she stood to say goodbye, he'd reached into the liner pocket of his Forks Police Department jacket and retrieved a small wrapped package out of it.

He'd handed it to her with the words "Go get 'em, kiddo." And off she'd gone.

Inside the package was a small set of very expensive artist-grade pencils, and an envelope containing $250 in Traveller's Cheques with a folded note inside:

_To my Isabella,__I'm so proud of you, and you know that, I hope, even though I'm not the best at saying things like __this__. You know what you want and you're going out there to get it. That is really honorable._

_It's going to be pretty lonely at the diner without you. _

_If you need me, you know where I'll be. There will always be a home here for you._

_Now go out there and show that big city what you're made of. And don't talk to strangers._

_Love, Your Old Man_

_P.S. You __**are**__ like her, but only in the very best ways. I've been wanting to tell you that for years__,__ but wasn't sure how._

She still received letters from him almost every Tuesday. Yes, letters, made out of real paper. Charlie did have an email address through the station, but Bella suspected that snail mail was his way of staying connected to her physically, even with all the miles between them. It suited him.

He'd butted out brilliantly through all the ups and downs of her time in New York, probably in hopes that at some point she'd consider herself defeated and come home. But he also knew better. She was stubborn, and honestly, she liked living in New York. Or, you know, near New York, in Hoboken.

She'd dropped out of school five semesters in, when a dangerous potion mixed of a nosy and judgemental roommate, discouraging professor critiques, a touch of depression and a natural desire to wander made it impossible for her to continue any longer. Since then, she'd submitted her work to a few different group shows, and was always casually working on the "Dot" series, but had no immediate plans for herself otherwise.

As much as she took it to heart, sometimes she doubted that "very best ways" insight from Charlie.

And now she spent her days responding to the pissed off queries of wannabe health nuts. Her life was in a holding pattern, waiting for the next opportunity to present itself. Perhaps that would explain how the intrigue of Edward Masen had so quickly taken over her psyche. Anything to keep the focus off her own failure to thrive.

Bella flipped open her cell phone, wincing at the time and wishing she had the audacity to just bolt for the day. Instead, she made the executive decision to allow herself one last mid-day distraction.

Dialing the numbers slowly, she gnawed her bottom lip a bit while the electronic ring sounded on the other end. Why was she nervous?

"Forks Police."

"Do I have the Chief on the line?" She said with a hint of tease in her voice.

"Bella?" She could almost hear the smile on the other end.

"How's it going, Dad?" She asked, settling back into her chair and resting her feet up on the adjacent chair, and refusing to feel guilty about blowing off work. Making this call was much more important than taking any other.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the CCCC, Edward had noticed that the girl had disappeared for a solid two hours following a dreadful morning of her chasing him down like a Lab to a stick. For a time, he'd felt like they were acting out a real-life version of the cartoon classic in one door out the other zigzag hallway routine. Avoiding her had been embarrassing, uncomfortable, and totally necessary.

Now she had taken off somewhere and was no longer attempting to corner him, and yet, instead of feeling relieved, he felt strangely preoccupied, even in her absence - or perhaps **by** her absence.

Although he wasn't willing to give her the chance to say it, he wondered what she wanted, and why she was so insistent on speaking with him after their odd encounter the previous day. And for some unknown reason, he also wondered where she'd gone.

He felt ashamed for confusing her and possibly hurting her feelings; it had not been his intent. Keeping a distance from others had never been a malicious or mean-spirited device, it was simply easier. It was better. It allowed him the emotional space that he needed to make his music without having to worry about others being woven into the ugly mix.

His music was private - painfully private - and the refusal to let anyone who knew him see who he really was led to a simple and pure lie. Pardon, life. When it came down to it, as long as he was able to write and perform regularly, Jasper and Alice were all he needed. Family, friends, acquaintances and coworkers did nothing but muck up the waters that he'd worked to keep clear for so many years. It was a monster he had created with purpose, and he and Frankenstein lived together in harmony.

At least, they had. Until this girl came along and failed to see (or care) how freaking unapproachable he was. A day or two more of his signature blatant ignoring and avoiding, and she would give up. He was certain of it. Admittedly, he had felt a certain rush in the breakup of monotony that the headset accident and her subsequent little quest had brought to his life over the last twenty-four hours (God, had it only been a day?), but the sooner things could get back to normal, the better.

He glanced at his watch (He only ever wore a watch on days when he would be performing. Time was more important on those days.), and began to imagine his escape. He noticed the girl walk by, presumably returning to her work after her little adventure. She was wearing tall black boots and a denim skirt, and her dark brown hair stretched to the middle of her back.

Did he just seriously notice that?

She didn't pause or even glance in the direction of his cube. _Good,_ he thought definitively.

Then, he proceeded to appall himself through the entire last hour of work by eavesdropping on the happenings on the other side of the wall.

All was quiet for a bit, then she took a call involving a customer's severe hair loss, including eyelashes, and then another regarding a poorly packaged delivery box. She handled both with ease and care and confidence. Upon hangup, she even hummed a few bars of _You are My Sunshine _before a coworker stopped by her office to see if she wanted to join in a happy hour hop after work (no one had ever bothered to ask him). She seemed fine, even happy.

Maybe he hadn't rattled her as much as he'd thought. Maybe he was the one with the unhealthy absorption.

He grimaced and glanced again at his watch, tapping his foot impatiently on the worn fibers below his desk. Tonight, he would play. And this was a good thing. A very good thing. One night on the stage and his head would clear itself completely of this strange invasion of the kingdom he'd created for himself.

_I lay bridges for nobody_, he thought grimly, and then subsequently jotted the words down in a plain black leather journal. He quickly tossed the journal into his desk drawer and rolled it closed.

Perhaps there's a song in there somewhere.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Aww, Charlie is such a doll. Honk if you love the Chief!**

**Super bonus points for whoever got the Heathers reference.**

**In Chapter Four, something actually happens, I promise. Phew.**


	4. give me to it

Pennames: realgirl_imaginarylife/gimmenothing (twilighted)

**A/N: Thank you once again to all of my amazing and dedicated reviewers, and to all the ladies at Project Team Beta, especially Batgirl8968 and Tiffanyanne3, the outstanding new permanent betas on this story (I considered misspelling the word "outstanding" right there as a joke, but couldn't decide if it was actually funny?).**

**And to my husband, the greatest supporter of this little adventure. Happy 5th anniversary, bebe.**

**Characters - Not mine, but everything else is. Cheers!**

**Song for this chap is _I Wanna be Adored_ by the Stone Roses**

* * *

4 - Give Me To It

The Blue Mango was a nearly perfect venue. It was small, the ceilings low, and while it was certainly not built for live music, the energy inside was always ripe and tangible, and their famed Thursday night Open Mic was always well-supported. Edward had only recently worked it into his routine, but already was dreading the day that repeat attendance would force him to take a lengthy or permanent hiatus from the space.

The eclectic East Village bar-slash-appetizer-heavy restaurant-slash-performance space was at ground level, but was built into the side of a neighboring parking garage, which gave it the cozy feeling of a basement bar without feeling dreary or damp. The concrete block walls had been painted with colorful murals by hundreds of local artists over the years.

Who could even begin to count the layers of grief and joy, hope and love that covered those walls?

Edward lowered his eyelids and breathed in long and slow, letting his senses absorb the smells and sounds around him.

Grilled flatbread, garlic, sweat. The scrape of a fork across a plate, the garbled song of dozens of voices all talking at once, one of the evening's performers tuning her guitar in the corner across the room.

He knew this moment would be brief, and the deeper he let it in, the longer it would stay with him. And the more it would surely block out the seemingly constant stream of wonderings about the girl at the office.

Thinking of her as "The Girl" was wrong. Not only was she a grown woman, but her name was Isabella. Isabella Swan. He'd taken a stealthy cruise by her cubicle yesterday afternoon while she was out and risked half a glance upward at her nameplate. He wasn't snooping, he'd merely wanted to know her name. That's all. Just her name.

The fact that he'd never before sought out the name of a coworker was not lost on him.

Another deep breath.

_Pull yourself together, Chap. This is your moment. This is what you want and wait for every second you're doing something else. This is precious and you need it. Do not waste it_, he chastised himself silently, desperately redirecting his energy and summoning the discipline that had been his constant anchor until very recently.

The night's emcee was a young poet named Laurent, who performed a bit of spoken word between acts. His thick black dreadlocks framed his soulful face as he performed, making slow, ghost-like movements across the small stage while he spoke. His words were dark and puzzling, but his delivery was soothing silk. After a slow bow to the audience with his hands pressed together in prayer pose, he stepped aside, gesturing for the evening's next artist.

Edward made a slight adjustment to his guitar strap, found a focal point on the floor eighteen inches in front of his feet, and stepped slowly towards the stage.

Every nerve in his body tensed, breathed a great sigh of relief, and then buzzed brightly to carry him along.

Showtime.

* * *

"I'm feeling like I need to go home, you guys," Bella spoke as clearly as she could, attempting a volume one notch above the ruthless giggling of her cohorts.

Mike Newton was wasted. And when he was wasted, he was touchy. And when he was touchy, he was relentless. He made a suave dive to get an arm around her shoulders, and Bella swiftly ducked out of his reach for the third time in fifteen minutes. She immediately began a survey of the unfamiliar area for the nearest subway staircase. She didn't make a habit of travelling in the city alone at night, especially after a few drinks (cop's daughter and all...), but Mike's revolting wanderlust hands were forcing her to at least contemplate it.

The giggles, of course, had other ideas.

"We can't stop now, Bella, the night has just begun! I feel alive!" he practically howled, throwing his hands in the air, less to Bella and more to the starless high-rise-lined sky.

"Yeah, Bella, come on! You hardly ever come out with the Crazy Cave Creature Clan!" piped up the childlike voice of Jessica Stanley (cubicle twenty-seven), as she slyly took a spot between Mike and Bella as they all walked down the dirty sidewalk, placing her hand on his lower back. She made tiny circles there with her thumb. Bella was thankful for the human partition she created.

Jessica was the unofficial social coordinator of the CCCC, which apparently shape-shifted from Call Center to Creature Clan after quitting time. Jess had stopped by Bella's desk to invite her on the outing after her eventual return to work from her self-proclaimed "sick time" (sick with utter frustration over one strange copper-haired coworker, at least). She'd had a nice chat with the Chief. It was funny how he could say almost nothing at all, and still make her feel better just for knowing that he had been so happy she'd been thinking of him.

Bella had agreed to this unfortunate night out for one reason and one reason only: boredom. Oh, and guilt. And maybe as a bit of a distraction. Okay, so perhaps there were a few reasons. But the point remained, it wasn't because she really wanted to be aimlessly strolling the city streets with Mike and Jessica and their entourage tonight. She'd much rather be at home doodling pictures of Spec in the hydrochloric acid dunk tank at the kitty carnival.

In reality, the night hadn't been bad, fun even, but Bella just wasn't in the mood.

She felt too broody, too introspective, too...fixated to be good company, and she knew it. She had hoped a few drinks would make the whole cube-neighbor fiasco flee her mind, but instead, being half-drunk had done nothing but make the perplexed wondering intensify to a point where she at one point even entertained the idea that perhaps Edward was some sort of plant that Charlie had hired to push her over the edge and force her to move back to Washington.

But no, that was silly. It was, right? They had had only one brief, weird interaction with one another. How that had transformed itself into the emotional tidal wave it had was outside her understanding.

"So...what's next, Clanners?" Jessica hooked arms with Gianna, our building's receptionist, who often joined on the CCCC's after-hours adventures, and Lauren (cubicle fifty-nine), an angry-eyed blonde who Bella didn't know well, and they skipped merrily down the sidewalk. Bella trailed behind while her mumbled protests "I just want to go home," were lost amongst the many sounds of the city. She resigned, letting the slow, warped vision of intoxication guide her along instead of Jessica's Creature call.

Jessica was a good person, truly, and an honest friend to Bella, albeit sometimes a bit annoying. She was bright, cheery and optimistic - all things that Bella strove for and failed at on a daily basis. She was a former high school classmate of Bella's roommate, Rosalie - the girl made of steel and legs - and was partially responsible for her job at Vitamin Direct.

Bella had impulsively left her last job at a popular chain smoothie bar (okay, fine, it was Jamba Juice, but you didn't hear it from me) moments following an incident involving a runaway fruit display, an orange to the back of the head, and an accidental spilling of an entire Power-sized Pomegranate Paradise waterfalling down the clean white shirt of a particularly cute regular. Afterwards, Rose had tired of Bella's languishing around the house, doing nothing productive aside from drawing cartoon pictures of Dot languishing around the house, and she had held her sketchbook hostage in her work safe until she asked Jessica if there were any positions available at the world's premiere source for discount vitamins and supplements.

And, of course, there were.

At first, Bella had resented Rose for her forceful violation of her life, but for a real pushy bitch, she sure did have a knack of knowing exactly what people needed. Working at the Call Center wasn't always easy, but it had moments of being weird (which she loved), funny, and even sometimes rewarding, and it was just the right thing for Bella, despite her many arguments against it at the time. She supposed that was how Rose had become a social worker, but she sure did pity the poor, likely terrified souls who were assigned to her.

Bella suddenly wished that her roomie was there with her. Rosalie would act as the perfect buffer; she would shoot out the perfect comeback, and she would execute the perfect exit strategy. But it was Thursday, which meant she was out with her boyfriend, Emmett, kicking ass somewhere together in their snooker league.

Emmett and Rose had been snookering (among other things) for almost three years, and Bella had been receiving and consequently ignoring Rosalie's recent hints that they had thought about moving in together. Losing her home with Rosalie would be a major blow to Bella's security, financially yes, but especially otherwise. Rose wasn't just a roommate, she was a friend, an ally, and a protector.

Simply said, Rose was maternal, which was something entirely new to Bella's world. And while she'd never in a million years say it out loud, she liked having that energy around her every day.

Mike had stopped to chat with a street vendor for a moment, and before Bella even realized what was happening, she watched him drop a fiver and beeline in her direction with a single red rose held out in front of him like a zombie with brains in sight as he ambled towards her. Bella's eyes went wide, but she made no move to either accept or deter the gift.

"Stay out with us, Bella," he muttered, and then stumbled on a particularly uneven crack in the sidewalk and fell forward. Bella took a step back, unwilling to serve as his landing strip, and right on cue, as usual, Jessica stepped in. God bless Jessica. She stopped his fall with two firm hands under his arms and set him back upright. Then she snatched the flower out of his hands with a smile, snapped the stem about four inches down, and slid the bud behind her ear.

"Bella's not going anywhere, Mikey boy. We haven't even eaten anything yet!" She hiccuped. "See? I really should eat something."

She grabbed Bella's hand and pulled her, half-stumbling, down the street for another block, suddenly stopping short in front of blue arched doorway. Above was a glowing sign that blinked again and again, TAPAS inside.

"Tapas. Yes. What we need to make our night complete is tapas. Of course. Follow me, my beautiful Cave Creatures."

Bella sighed and held the door open as a train of coworkers passed her by. Jessica, Eric (twenty-three), Mike, Marcus (six), Gianna, Angela (fifty) all marched past her as the sweet sound of a strumming guitar escaped from the small room, out into the night.

Last, the eternal caboose, she went in.

* * *

There were only so many words that could even begin to describe it. Being there, elevated above them, with beautiful pieces of crafted exotic wood shielding him from everything that was real and scary. Giving them everything that he had to give anybody. And then running away for cover like a big fucking baby the moment he was forced to place the power back into their hands.

His fingers touched his guitar fret delicately, resulting in the tiniest sound. Beautiful.

Finally, he allowed his eyes to close as he let his heart and soul and hands take over the job ahead, beginning at first with delicate _plinks_ and _plunks_ that resembled the sound of an old music box on its final wind, and then building slowly, gaining force and complexity, until he eventually opened his mouth and began to sing.

_Full of life, trapped in ice  
__I've come to seal my doom_

_Full of life, a false device  
__Safe inside its womb_

_Give me to it gently  
__Give me to it wholly  
__Give me to it in a way where I will never want to stay  
__But give me to it now_

__

_Give me to it 'cause it needs me  
__Give me to it don't mislead me  
__Give me to it far away the one that I will not betray  
__Now watch me disavow_

_Full of life, trapped in ice  
__My wrongs are now part of you. Adieu._

He began crafting the outro, winding back down slowly again to the music box plink, but he failed to find the song's end before he stopped short. Something was different. Whistling, clapping, jeering. It was too loud, too strange, and too obvious.

Something was wrong.

"Woooo Hoooo, CCCC representin'!" a loud and remarkably obnoxious voice called out from a large circular booth in the back of the room. Instinctively, his head shot up, glaring towards the source of the raid.

He squinted out across the room, seeing a row of vaguely familiar faces along the back wall, and then he saw her. Staring back at him with her mouth slightly agape, with a strange saturation of shock, wonder, intention, and pure awe swirling around like a whirlpool in her big brown eyes.

It was her. The Girl. Isabella.

For several seconds, he stared back at her, before reality grabbed hold of him with the realization of what was happening. SHE was here. They were all here. They had all seen it. They had seen him. All of him.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK.

Unconsciously, his mouth spit out the only haggard, whispered word it could muster.

"No."

His heart raced like hummingbird wings as his world was falling apart quickly, brick by terrible brick, all around him. He frantically stood and leaped from the stage, snatching his coat and guitar case from their perch on a corner chair, and jogged haphazardly through the maze of bodies straight for the side door, without another look towards his cheering squad. The shiny glass rectangle seemed to almost never get closer as he rudely forced himself through the busy restaurant. After what seemed like an eternity, his eager hands met the steel of the handle and he threw the door open.

And then he ran.

He had never run with such desperation in his life, unable to even see clearly before him because his glasses were still nestled in his coat pocket. He ran with his guitar still strapped on his torso, bouncing wildly on his back, the hard case banging awkwardly against his thigh with every step forward. He thought he heard the faraway echo of someone calling his name. _Edward._

The very idea of it only made him run faster.

The night's chill air slapped him repeatedly in the face like an angry mother punishing her child. And he knew he deserved it.

* * *

They all piled into the crescent-shaped booth in the back of the cute little restaurant. It was packed, but the crowd was mostly silent. She removed her coat and adjusted it behind her back, attempting to get comfortable on the overpopulated bench. She glanced behind her and admired for a moment a large mural of swirling colors, greens and grays and browns, mostly amorphous, but with hinted shapes of wolf heads throughout. For some reason, it reminded her of Forks.

She heard and felt the intensity of the music, which had an almost bewitching quality to it, and responded to the subconscious need to look up and see who this person was who owned this room and the people inside it.

She looked up. And then she froze. And gawked.

It was him. The object of her constant obsessing for the last two days. The odd source of an anxiety so strong, she hadn't felt the likes of it since her disastrous tenth birthday party. There he was, in all his amazing, God-like glory.

Tiny Nancy Drew spun around in victorious circles inside her. The mystery was not solved, but a very, very big clue had just been unearthed. Option D suddenly became entirely possible.

She was too astounded to smile, but she wanted to. This was Edward; this was the real Edward. Not the strange, elusive misfit act he put on every day at Vitamin Direct.

A voice to her left broke her moment. "Hey, you know who he kinda reminds me of?" Jessica pondered.

_Edward._

She continued, "Whatshisface, from work...what's his name?"

_Edward._

"The weird guy with the glasses? Edmund?" Eric offered. "No, that can't be him," he trailed off, suddenly seeming faraway and unsure.

"That's him." Bella broke her silence as her own dry, cracked voice surprised her ears, but could not take her eyes off the magnificence before her. "His name is Edward...that's him."

They all sat quietly for a moment, transfixed. The song was beginning to wind down, Edward's eyes were closed, and he hunched over himself on his chair so far she couldn't see his face anymore. Bella began to excitedly picture how she would quietly corner him after his set, and wondered what she could say that might disarm him and make this fated encounter the end of the awkwardness between them.

A loud hoot disrupted her thoughts as Mike leapt upward with his fists elevated.

"Wooo hoooo, CCCC representin'!" he bellowed.

Edward's head shot up towards the sound so suddenly his wild hair whiplashed. His frantic eyes scanned the area, locking eventually onto Bella's, and his face routed from mild worry to sheer panic in the course of a half-second. She took an audible, sharp intake of breath, and again, much like the incident at work, they stared, neither able nor willing to look away. But while Bella's expression exhibited surprised admiration, Edward's was nothing short of pure terror.

She watched as his sad mouth made the shape of a perfect circle. A whispered "No" that never reached her ears.

_Yes._

He rose and leapt from the stage, clearly agitated. He grabbed his things from a nearby chair and practically ran towards the most direct route outside.

He was plotting an escape! That strange, sneaky, amazing little bastard!

In that moment, Bella cursed a thousand times the fact that she'd agreed to sit on the inside.

"Move. Move. God, will you just move!" she pleaded as she pushed against Taylor's legs with all her strength. Her coworkers shared a perplexed look at her expense across the table, and when she realized that Edward was only mere feet from freedom, she gave up on their cooperation altogether and ducked underneath to escape the cell, crawling out from under the booth and sprinting for the front door, knowing she would be able to catch him before he disappeared altogether.

She forgot to anticipate the small step leading up to the entryway.

Her boot caught the six-inch lip full on, and of course she fell, flying forward with enough force to send a cannonball straight into the belly of an enemy pirate ship. Her chest and palms hit the floor with hard equal impact, and a whoosh of air escaped her lungs. A few seconds passed before her body was reminded of the urgency of the moment.

She scrambled back onto her feet and bolted outside, somehow managing to appreciate the delicate _dingaling_ of the front door bell on her way out, but at the same time forgetting all about the cold air and no coat, and the Completely Confused Cave Creatures inside.

He was gone.

She called for him. She had no idea which direction he'd disappeared to, so she just offered up his name to the hazy darkness, feeling it being promptly swallowed up by manholes and exhaust pipes. She called out his name with the hope that he would hear it and realize that it was okay, that a good person wanted to see him, to know him, to tell him that he was remarkable, and that his music worth sharing.

And that she wanted to hear more.

She stood there on the sidewalk for a moment, and then took the first dejected step towards home. Rose would make her tea and she would sleep, dreaming strange dreams of spinning wolves, scared green eyes, and a knowing that some unknown wrong of his past was now her own to bear.

Every step she took also brought her also closer to tomorrow. When she would confront him (for real this time), with kindness, whether he liked it or not.

* * *

Bella fidgeted with the beading on her shoulder bag while waiting for the elevator to retrieve and deliver her to her single most anticipated day at Vitamin Direct. The light (and sobriety) of day had a way of rendering all of her earlier promises to herself about confronting him really...scary. And foolish. And perhaps unnecessary.

She didn't need to bother him about it, really. She should just let him be, let him have his little extracurricular activity outside of work. They all had them. Jane Volturi was a part of the Central Park Model Yacht Club. Mike Newton was in an online poker league. Eric Yorkie kept rooftop pigeons. She, of course, had Dot.

And apparently, Edward Masen had open mic. And for whatever reason, did not want anyone else to know about it. Or anything about him at all, in fact. She'd learned more about him in a two-minute period the previous night than she had in four months sitting beside him every day.

Each time she began to surrender the idea of trying to talk to him, the tiny detective would nag and fight.

_Ding_

The elevator. Her stomach churned.

As she stood inside the tiny moving box filled with strangers, watching the small lit circles gain in number as they rose upward, unconsciously bobbing her head to the MIDI version of "Never Gonna Give You Up", she compromised with her many selves to feel it out, first see how he acted and then react accordingly. Yes.

_Ding._ Her stomach churned.

She made her way through the reception area and down the first line of cubicles, deciding to head straight to her own office and go about her day as she normally would. Her coat was hanging on the back of her chair; Jessica must've come in early and dropped it off. She couldn't yet worry about what Jess and the others were thinking about her bizarre hurried departure last night.

First things first.

Her fingers stretched up and over the edge of the cubicle wall she shared with Edward. Slowly, she raised herself onto her tiptoes and peered over the edge, hoping just to get a quick peek without him noticing her.

He wasn't there.

Correction, **nothing** was there. No papers, no clips, no post-its, no pens, nothing. His computer, phone and headset were neatly positioned on the desk, but that was all.

Her head was spinning. She wandered out to the company common area, where a group of her coworkers were gathered in a loose circle, talking and laughing.

"Hey...you guys." She cleared her parched throat and shook her head a bit. "Has anyone seen Edward?" She was feeling slightly panicked, and was worried she might sound like a lunatic.

Lauren smirked and giggled under her breath as she turned away and pretended to fuss with the coffee maker.

Peter, wearing his signature skinny black and white diagonal striped tie, took a long sip from his company coffee cup and raised one eyebrow as he shot her an ironic smile. "Edward quit."

* * *

**A/N**

**I cannot believe it! I am the proud owner of my very own cliffie! There won't be a ton of them in this story, so soak it in and enjoy it!**

**xoxo**


	5. the glass slipper

Pennames: realgirl-imaginarylife/gimmenothing (twilighted)

**A/N:**

**Hello, and thank you all, again…the supporters of this story are awesome. Nub to you all.**

**Special thanks to my amazing betas, Batgirl8968 and Tiffanyanne3, who not only work so hard (and fast!) to fix all of my many comma and dialogue issues, but who also take the time and energy from their own lives to help me become a better writer, one chapter at a time. So lucky to have you.**

**Song for this chapter is _Help!_ by The Beatles. And I think our poor Edward means this quite literally.**

**E & B, not mine. Just Dot & Spec.  
**

* * *

Previously on...Little Slugger

_"Hey...you guys." She cleared her parched throat and shook her head a bit. "Has anyone seen Edward?" She was feeling slightly panicked, and was worried she might sound like a lunatic._

_Lauren smirked and giggled under her breath as she turned away and pretended to fuss with the coffee maker._

_Peter, wearing his signature skinny black and white diagonal striped tie, took a long sip from his company coffee cup and raised one eyebrow as he shot her an ironic smile. "Edward quit."  
_

* * *

5 – The Glass Slipper

Bella blanched. And that is saying a lot for a girl whose complexion already necessitated the "Casper" shade of face powder.

"Quit? What do you mean, he quit?" she asked madly, bringing her fingertips to her temples, trying to stay calm. Peter and Lauren both stared at her cautiously, as if in fear that she might just combust right there in the workroom.

"I mean," Peter leaned down toward her trembling body and looked in her eyes, speaking to her with slow certainty, the way a preschool teacher might speak to his 3 year-old pupil. "That Edward quit. He no longer works here. He showed up at 2:30 this morning, waving a pile of cash in the security guard's face and demanding to be let upstairs so he could clean out his desk and leave a resignation letter under Alec's door. Said he was leaving town."

He leaned back and shrugged. "Apparently he doesn't wanna share his pretty songs with us. It's a shame, really. I heard he wasn't half-bad. I always knew there was more to that guy than meets the eye. No one's really that boring."

Bella's eyes blazed fire as she stomped her foot fiercely and balled her hands into fists.

"You don't know anything!" she spat, and turned tail back to her desk, her long, dark hair having the last word as it sailed like an air-dried sheet after her.

Peter turned to Lauren, who was biting back a shocked giggle. "You think I'm better looking than Edward, right?"

* * *

Edward had run as far as he could go.

Gasping for air, he weakly grasped for the solid cornerstone of the nearest building and ducked into an alleyway, easing himself to the ground to rest. His guitar rang out as it hit the asphalt after him, sounding like the last midnight chime of a demonically possessed grandfather clock. It echoed down the channel, ringing in his ears as he breathed deeply, suddenly hyperaware of his intense thirst with nothing to quench it.

His throat was raw and scorching, his head pounding from the inside out, and his ass was freezing through his jeans on a filthy concrete slab in a New York City alley. Perfect. He had led himself here, to this terrible place. To this terrible moment. Years of hiding and shaming and pretending and avoiding had led him here.

And it seemed just about right.

He sat there shivering for what could have been hours, he didn't know. He strummed his guitar quietly, gently, with his numb, icy fingers, and remembered back to the first regrettable moment that had been the beginning of this feeble journey. Then the second. And the third. He replayed the parade of anguish in his head, one after the other, until he arrived full circle back to the cold, hard, miserable perch of the present.

At first he had cried out loud, sobbing and rocking to the beat of the sad tune he played. Gradually, the tears ceased and dried and left him softly sniffing into the deserted darkness as passersby walked without notice or care.

Boy was overdue for a good cry.

It was sometime afterward, when his frosty steam-cloud breaths regained their regularity, and the moon had moved high up into the sky, that he realized he was done.

He felt...okay. Exhausted. Endured. Exorcised.

But when it came to his most recent regrettable action, he felt embarrassed.

He'd ignored Isabella, purposefully avoided her, blatantly disregarded her, and yet everywhere he turned, whether in his own mind or in the real world, ***poof*,** she appeared. He was agonized when he recalled the sheer reverence he'd seen in her eyes when she'd seen him up on that stage. Reverence for _him_, as if such a thing were even possible.

And he knew exactly the last time someone had looked at him that way.

The memory of her friendly yet intense, familiar stare made him reach to the ground and grab a jagged hunk of loose asphalt at his side, chucking it at the brick wall across from him. It shattered and scattered through the alley, pebbles rolling back toward his outstretched feet.

_She doesn't know anything about me_, he thought crisply. He was as saddened by it as he was certain of it.

Suddenly motivated, he eased himself up with his palms, his body sore and stiff and complaining as it tried to remember how to stand. He brushed himself off, blew warm air into his chilled hands, and headed towards home.

She knew nothing. Now it was time to ensure that she never would.

* * *

It was ridiculously late by the time he arrived at the office, and at the last minute he considered waiting until morning to try and get inside. But the idea of coming in early to take care of the few bits of necessary business wasn't sitting well with him. The chances of running into a coworker, if not _the_ coworker, were too good in that scenario and he decided it wasn't worth the risk. This break had to be clean.

He also hoped that the rolling out of the inevitable office gossip story about the weird guy showing up in the middle of the night to quit might convince her that trying to find him was not a good idea. He wasn't sure, but based on the way she had looked at him tonight, he worried she might consider it otherwise.

He could not want to see her. And he could not have her wanting to see him.

He set his quivering chin, and forced himself to believe it. To mean it. The big cry was over, but his emotions were still running raw. He had to get this over with before he changed his mind and made an even bigger mess of things.

The streets at this hour were quiet in a way that was unfamiliar. Each step sounded fresh with individuality as if he were alone in the city, unaware of the sleeping millions around him. The solitude gave him strength.

He arrived at the familiar revolving doors shortly before two-thirty A.M., thankful as he looked through the glass to see the security guard sitting at his post behind the main reception desk. He was reading a large black paperback with a picture of a frayed red ribbon swirling across it. He looked involved, but Edward was glad he was there at all. He hadn't yet formulated a viable plan B if he was unable to access the building the easy way.

Edward took a deep breath and banged his fist on the hard glass. He felt self-conscious about the noise it created outside and something about the feeling made him wish for a transport pod, or a time machine, or whatever would instantly lift him from here to home, safe and sound with his cats purring on his chest. The guard didn't look up. He banged again, this time with added force. Again, the guard didn't look up, but he did lift his right pointer finger in the air as if to say "Gimme one second."

Edward glared at him incredulously. Was that joker serious? He could be _anyone_ out here on the city streets in the middle of the freaking night, banging on the door of a building he's responsible for, potentially in trouble, and the guy can't so much as look up from his goddamned book?

Well, he could say one thing - the man's obvious negligence bode well for what he was about to ask of him.

Finally, reluctantly, the middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair marked his spot by turning the book over on the desk, making a tent with it. He grabbed his official-looking blue brimmed hat and placed it on his head as he walked towards the door.

Edward hugged his arms around his torso and raised his shoulders, attempting to appear shivering and pathetic. Or even more shivering and pathetic then he already was. He held his employee identification card in his fist.

The guard eyed Edward cautiously as he pulled a key from collection on his belt, and opened the door to the left of the revolving door. He opened it a few inches with his left hand, and stealthily moved his right hand to his holster.

"What can I help you with, son?" he asked. Edward flinched.

He held up the employee card like a little white flag.

"Good evening, Sir. I'm really sorry to come by so late. My name is Edward Masen, and I'm an employee in the Censure Department at Vitamin Direct. I've had a family emergency and I need to leave town immediately. I was hoping you might be able to help me get some things from my desk and leave a note for my boss?" He growled at himself internally. He hated lying.

Edward stiffened as the guard looked him up and down. "And you're sure this can't wait until the morning? I'm really not supposed to let anyone in the building right now, and I think you know that."

"I do know, Sir. I assure you, I wouldn't ask you to do this if I had any other choice." At least here he spoke the truth.

"Well, you can write a note here, and I can leave it for your boss at the desk, but I cannot let you upstairs. Them's the rules." He had relaxed his shooting hand and was now leaning in the doorway with his hand on his hip, relaxed.

Edward could feel the panic igniting inside him. There was only one reason why he needed to get up to his office tonight, and it wasn't to leave a note under his boss's door. Moisture veiled his eyes as he began to plead.

"Please," he begged quietly. "Please. I've had a very difficult night, and I really need to get out of here. But there is something in my desk that I need, and I cannot leave without it. Please, can you just help me out here?"

Falsehoods were no longer a part of this equation. The need, the tale and the emotions were undeniable. The security officer softened in response, but did not buckle.

"Well, maybe I could go up and get it for you," he offered.

"NO!"

His response surprised both of them. Edward brought his hands to his hair and began walking in small circles in front of the door.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell. I'm just feeling a little bit...desperate right now, and...my office, it's...it's a mess, really disorganized. There's no way you could find it and..." he drifted off, stopping again in front of the door and looking the guard in the eye. Without breaking his pleading stare, he reached inside his coat and grabbed something from the breast pocket.

The guard's right hand moved immediately back to his gun, ready to defend himself.

Edward extracted his hand, and between his fingers was a wad of cash. The outside bill was a twenty. If the others inside matched, it was at least two hundred dollars. His hand and chin quivered as he held out the folded pile towards the open door.

"Please."

The guard closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, his shoulders slumped. When he looked up again, his eyes were filled with pity and defeat.

"Jeeze, son, keep your money. Something tells me you're going to need it." He opened the door wide enough for Edward to enter. "Come inside. I'll take you up there."

Edward paused a moment, and slid through the small opening, standing artlessly nearby as the guard relocked the door. "God help me if I lose my job over this," he muttered under his breath, less to Edward and more to the heavens.

"Thank you. Honestly, sir. Thank you so much, I...I don't know..."

The guard turned around and looked him square in the face. "Don't say anything else, kid. Let's just get you what you need and get you on your way." Edward gave him a single humble nod and shuffled toward he elevator, his shamed eyes locked to the floor.

During the awkward six-story flight up, each miniscule sound the elevator made was heightened to a roar as the two silent men stared at the glowing circles above their heads.

_ding._

Edward was beginning to feel anxious about getting out of there. The sooner he got his ass out of this building, the sooner he could reevaluate and start over. Maybe he really _would_ get out of town. Maybe he could even go and see if...

_ding._

He was getting ahead of himself. First, close this strange chapter, then new beginning.

_ding._ The double doors slid open.

He looked with uncertainty to the guard, who nodded for him to go ahead. Edward led the way through the corporate mouse maze to his cubicle. On the way, he realized that he would soon be caught in a lie.

The guard shot him a knowing look as they arrived at his space. It was spotless. Edward ignored him and avoided eye contact as he went straight to work, pulling out his trash can and running his arm across the entire desk, and all of his office supplies avalanched into the empty plastic bag. He neatly placed his phone next to the computer keyboard, and then opened the drawer containing the only reason he was there.

He felt a surging wave of relief as he saw it sitting there, as if it might have somehow disappeared before he could get to it. Keeping it at work at all had been a very recent mistake - further proof that he was failing in his attention to detail.

He cracked open the black leather journal from the back and tore out an empty page, snatched a pen from the trash can and quickly scribbled a note of apology and half-explanation to his boss Alec. He folded it in half and stored the book protectively under his arm.

"I'm all set, Sir, thank you again, I really appreciate it," he leaned in toward him, glancing at his nametag, "Felix." He stood up straight and looked at him directly. "Thank you, Felix. You are a good man. You honored me with a great favor tonight, and I'm forever thankful to you." He held out his hand to him.

Felix seemed thoughtful for a moment as he appraised the gesture. Eventually, he reached out and met Edward's hand, shaking it surely.

"Whatever you've got yourself wrapped up in, son, I hope that things work out for you. You seem like a good kid. As a return to the favor, don't screw that up, okay? I was a young man myself once, and I have a little boy at home. Maybe I understand better than you think. I just hope that whatever's brought you here tonight is leading you down the good path."

Edward's eyes, for the third time in one night, threatened tears. "Thank you. I hope so too."

The air in the elevator on the ride back down to the lobby was lighter the second time around, though both men were again silent as they moved downward.

As they passed by the reception desk again, Edward again took notice of the book sitting on the desk.

"Good book?" he asked, gesturing towards it. He was smiling, feeling free already of the many shackles he'd just cut loose.

Felix's cheeks burned in two nearly perfect circles of pink. "Yeah," he said. "It really is."

* * *

"I have never seen you so worked up over a guy before." Rosalie smiled as she shot Bella a loaded look, and drizzled dressing over her Caesar salad.

Bella fidgeted with the linen napkin on her lap, biting the inside of her cheek and unsure of how to explain.

"It's less to do with the fact that he's a guy, I think...and more about just how oddly mysterious the whole thing is," she began. "You know me, I'm a curious girl. At first, I just assumed that he was a weird, elusive prick. But something about it didn't add up. He's just clearly too...complex...to be just a jerk, you know? And then seeing him on that stage the other night...God! He was incredible, it was like...otherworldly!" She combed her hair back with her fingers and held the makeshift two pigtails in place for a moment, lost in the memory of it.

Rosalie raised her eyebrows twice quickly in response while she chewed on a bite of salad. Her eyes implored for more.

"I'm serious, Rose. Can you imagine it? This totally quiet...no, scratch that, not quiet, silent. This totally silent, shy, strange, unsure person suddenly becoming the exact opposite of himself, just like magic. He literally had the entire room sheltered all snug right in the palm of his hand," she sighed, frowning down at the curled up palm she'd subconsciously presented as example. "And then what does he do? He runs off like Cinderella psychopath the moment he catches my eye - tell me that wouldn't completely agitate you!"

Rose paused a moment with her fork in mid-flight, thoughtfully glancing across the restaurant and out the window to the busy street. Bella knew that look. Rosalie wasn't looking for someone, or thinking about something else. This is what she did when she wanted to bide time so the person she was speaking to could come to their own conclusion before she laid down her hand, always a full house made up of sharp truths and sordid realities.

She scrunched up her nose and turned back to Bella decidedly.

"Nah, too weird. I don't really like 'em weird," she said, and her mouth lifted into a knowing yet loving smile.

Bella scowled in response.

"Well...maybe I do," she mumbled weakly.

"I know you do, baby. That's why you're gonna go find him." She shot her a wink and sipped her iced tea, leaving a scarlet lipstick print behind on the clear plastic straw.

"Rose! I am NOT going to go hunting for the poor guy! He has made it more than abundantly clear on more than one occasion that he does not want to know or talk to me. Seriously, the guy quit his job and potentially skipped town just to avoid a confrontation! He. Does. Not. Want. To. See. Me."

Rosalie sighed and shook her head slowly as she looked to the window again; her clear blue eyes were elsewhere. She toyed with the clip that held her head of platinum waves up in a loose bun. After a long while, she looked back to Bella, her face serious, but affectionate.

"Isabella Marie Swan, you of all people in this world should know that nothing, no matter how it may look from the outside, is ever that simple."

Bella stared down her untouched club sandwich. As always, Rosalie was right.

"So," she broke off a piece of rogue bacon and popped it in her mouth, leaning in on her elbows towards Rosalie. "If you were Cinderella, where would your next ball be?"

* * *

**A/N: **

**Okay lovlies…if you were Cinderella, what would your coach be made of? Mine would be a big red balloon.**

**And midnight, *Pop* **

**:)**


	6. waiting for the wind

**Little Slugger - Chapter 6**

**Author: realgirl_imaginarylife/gimmenothing ( Twilighted)**

**A/N - Holy crumbs, sorry for the wait on this. This chapter came to me very slowly, but I think it finally came around in the end. The good news is that I wrote 2500 words early in the process, and decided to shelve it for chapter 7, so the turnaround on the next chapter should be very fast, definitely within the week. Thanks for your patience. I promised myself when I started this story that I would take the time to get it right, every time.**

**Thanks as always to my wonderful readers and reviewers. Special shout-outs to Venis-Envy and SunKing for their brilliant pimping of Little Slugger. You guys are just...gah...amazing! And of course, the best Project Team Betas a girl could ask for, Batgirl8968 and Tiffanyanne3.**

* * *

Lastly, the Twilight fandom is, once again, using numbers and passion to help a great cause - The Alex's Lemonade Stand Foundation, working hard every day to fight childhood cancers. I hope that you'll visit the Twilight Fandom Gives Back blog at http:// www (dot) thefandomgivesback (dot) blogspot (dot) com, and please consider making a donation before November 20.

If you have twitter, feel free to follow me - realimaginary - I post story news, updates, teasers, writing struggles...and lots of general oddities about my life.

Song for this chapter is _Human Nature_ by Michael Jackson.

xoxo.

Little Slugger - 6 - Waiting for the Wind

Bella stood outside looking up at the sign above the door for a long time, swaying gently on two metal eyelets, each breath exhaling into vague clouds of vapor around her.

It looked different in the daylight.

She wasn't sure exactly why she felt so nervous. The restaurant was virtually empty at this hour on a Sunday, and he certainly wouldn't be there. She just felt kind of...invasive...doing this. He'd made it so very clear he didn't want to see her, to know her, yet here she was, sleuthing away at the merciless bidding of pocket Nancy Drew. And Rosalie, she scowled.

Her arms were still at her sides, tucked inside handmade wool mittens as she stood a few feet from the door. Minutes ticked by.

"_The best way out is always through_," she whispered to herself, summoning Frost to grant her the courage to go inside and warm her frigid toes and curious heart. Her fingers twitched. Then stretched. Then slowly reached forward to open the door. She had nothing to lose by at least asking.

The bell rang as she pulled the door open. She jumped. The delicate sound was tattooed on her psyche after last week's events. She considered turning around and running home as the memory of it began to overwhelm her.

_Go through, go through, go through_, she cheered herself on silently as she walked inside, carefully stepping over the spot where she had fallen that night. The room looked so much bigger when it was empty. Her eyes explored the odd familiarity of the space, eventually landing on the small stage, sitting barren and lonely at the back of the room. She was instantly flooded with emotions at the sight of it, as the parallel of its desolation opposed to Edward's came to her mind. She swallowed the lump that had appeared in her throat, holding on tight to the moisture veiling her eyes and feeling guilty for the forty-seven million, eight hundred thirty thousand, four hundred and ninety-fifth time in the last ten days that somehow she was the one responsible for all of his problems.

She wondered, yet again, if she'd only held on to that foolish headset, would any of this have happened? Granted, the guy was obviously troubled to begin with, and something so simple and silly shouldn't catalyze a series of events leading to such high drama, and therefore she really shouldn't feel guilty about it at all, but still...

Bella sighed. The big kind where you blubber your lips to let it all out.

"Hey, everything okay?" a voice behind her asked.

Bella turned quickly in surprise and was suddenly face to chest with a huge young man with kind dark eyes and long black hair. He was holding a tin can in one hand, a paintbrush in the other, and his clothing was splattered in paint.

"Oh! Uh...gosh, I'm sorry, I was just...um...hi." She stepped backwards once and stood up straight, sticking her hand out towards him and craning her neck to look up to his face. "My name's Bella Swan."

He cocked his head and smiled as if something about her name amused him. "Bella Swan. Alright then, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Jacob." He looked down awkwardly at his occupied hands, and then back up at her apologetically.

"Right. Sorry. I'm an idiot. Do you work here?"

"I do, actually. I work in the kitchen. I'm a cook. But..." he looked down at his telltale attire, "since there's no one to cook for today, I'm doing some touch-ups to my mural." He gestured over to the same wolf mural Bella had noticed on the night of Edward's open mic performance.

"That's yours?" Bella asked, in exclaimed awe. "I totally noticed it the other night when I was here with some coworkers. It reminded me of..." she drifted off, embarrassed.

"What?" Oh no, he wasn't going to let her get away with that.

"No, seriously. It's nothing. I'm a dork. And now it's, like, a 'thing', and really it's nothing, and..."

"Well, you brought it up, so it's only fair that you tell me. Do you have any idea how much artists want to talk to people about their work?" He was smiling at her, clearly entertained by this unexpected addition to his day.

"I do, actually," she said, staring at a crack in the wooden floor, wishing suddenly that unrealized telekinetic powers would suddenly kick in, and the crack might open wide and swallow her whole.

"You're an artist?"

"Yeah. Well, I mean, sort of. I was in school for a while, but dropped out and now I just kinda...doodle." Despite her best mental efforts, the floorboards were still very much in place.

"Ahhh, a doodler, I see," he teased. "Well, I would love to see your...doodles...sometime."

Oh crap. He was flirting with her. This was not exactly where she had intended this conversation to go.

"Listen, Jacob, I was wondering if you could help me with something kind of random," she slyly maneuvered a subject change.

"Wait, wait, wait! You left me hanging there! What did my mural remind you of?" Jacob argued, deeply arching a single eyebrow at her. Bella had always wanted to learn how to do that.

"Honestly, it's nothing," she sighed, resigned. "It just kind of reminded me of home...I mean, the place where I grew up, back in Washington." She shifted her weight quickly between her feet, glancing around at everything in the restaurant aside from him. "See, I told you it was nothing."

"You're from Washington?" he asked excitedly. "Where?"

Bella scrunched her nose at him. "A tiny town you've never heard of in the North coast, it's called Forks." She held her pointer finger and thumb up close to her face, keeping a one-eighth inch gap between them. "Thiiiiiiiis big."

Jacob's mouth fell open in surprise and he threw his head backward, laughing loudly in a single blast.

Bella looked at him uncomfortably. "Yeah, I know. Forks. It's a totally ridiculous name for a town. And Spoons and Knives were our high school rivals," she said, rolling her eyes.

Jacob shook his head excitedly. "No, I'm not laughing at you...I'm laughing because I am actually quite familiar with Forks, and I know all the stupid jokes about it." She looked at him curiously as he continued. "I was born in La Push, and most of my family and oldest friends live on the Quileute Reservation there. My mother owns an interior design firm in Port Angeles, so I grew up there, but yeah...I definitely know Forks."

"Get outta town!" She practically screeched.

"No, I swear, I'm completely serious!" Jacob was still laughing and shaking his head back and forth, totally enjoying the conincidence. "Newton's Outfitters?"

Bella gawked at him a moment, and then groaned. "I used to work there when I was in high school," she paused and looked hard at his face. "God, maybe we saw each other back then."

He eyed her critically for a moment, leaning down and peering into her eyes, appearing to get a better look. "Nope," he stated with total confidence. "I would've remembered meeting you."

She had no idea how to respond to his overt come-ons, so she continued to stand uncomfortably with her hands knotted together as silence grew, wondering how to segue the conversation back to its intended target.

Jacob broke the silence. "Bella, I love that you saw my work and immediately thought of the Olympic Peninsula. Thank you for noticing it, and for...eventually," he grinned, "Telling me what it meant to you. That's really something, you know? Really cool. It means a lot, and it makes it all worth it." He said it with a sincerity so resolute it may as well have been set in carbonite.

Bella softened and glanced over her shoulder to the mural across the room. It seemed to be the only thing in the restaurant that looked the same as i had that night. "It's really good, you know. You're really good. I'm glad that I was able to, you know, recognize it for what it was inspired by. And..." she began, hoping she wouldn't regret the statement she was about to make. "If you're ever showing anywhere else, I'd love to come and see."

Jacob's smile lit up the room so fiercely, she could almost feel the heat from it. "Thank you." He placed his painting accessories on a nearby table for two and rummaged through his pocket for a moment, pulling out a crumpled receipt. "Do you have a pen?"

"Sorta." She pulled her trusty number two out and tossed it in the air underhand so that it made two distinct flips before he grabbed it in midair, grinning to himself and shaking his head as he jotted down his info on the back of the wrinkled paper. He handed the slip her way.

"You should call me. I have this thing with an artist's collaborative opening next month, I'd love for you to come. And maybe sometime you could show me your...doodles." He flashed her his award winning smile one more time.

Even with all the half-teasing and sexual innuendo, it was obvious that he was genuinely curious about the seemingly lost girl who had wandered into his hipster restaurant on a cold Sunday afternoon. Bella cringed at the very idea of showing Jacob her most recent works compared to his Northwestern masterpiece.

_Here, have a look at these kitty cats. See how cute they are? See, they're acting out my creepy preoccupation with the coworker I once barely spoke to. See the one with the glasses? Yeah, that's him. He's the one I'm here stalking right now! I'm pretty sure he's also the reason why I'm never going to call you even though you're so huge and sort of beautiful._

Girl really needed to get out of there before she got sucked up into his vortex of pure goodness. She was on a mission, and Jacob was a deflection.

"Thanks Jacob. Maybe sometime," she said, taking the paper from him and shoving it haphazardly into her bag, "after things settle down for me. It's been a...weird year. Or two." _And getting weirder every day_, she added to herself.

Seemingly satisfied, Jacob allowed the subject change she'd attempted earlier. "So, aside from this crazy coincidence and great conversation, what brings you here today?"

Bella suddenly felt shy. Was she still up for this? She had hoped it would be a quick and anonymous opportunity to maybe tap some info about Edward, but now she had this new comrade to further embarrass herself in front of, and she wasn't sure how to proceed. This was the last place she'd seen him. If she was actually going to follow through with this sleuthing thing, this was the place a good detective would begin. Now was the time to decide, was she a good detective or not?

"I...I am looking for someone," she stammered. Tiny Nancy Drew threw confetti inside her belly, creating a butterfly-like sensation.

"Oh?" Jacob inquired, lifting a brow at her. There he went with that eyebrow thing again. It was so cool. She would have to practice when she got home later.

"This guy, Edward, he performed the other night at your open mic. He's an old friend of mine, but he left in a hurry," _understatement of the millennium_, she thought, "and i didn't get a chance to talk to him."

Jacob's arched brow deflated like a rubber boat in a cactus patch.

Bella pretended not to notice, swallowed once and continued. "And I was hoping to get in touch with him. I wondered if...if you, or someone else here, might know him? Or...?"

Jacob's posture shifted the moment she had uttered the word "Edward". His face displayed a whirlwind of emotions, landing on indifference, and his shoulders slumped slightly, making him appear less Herculean, and simply more...boyish.

"I know the guy you're talking about," he said without warmth. "He played here a few times. I always know when he's on because plates get backed up in the kitchen."

She shot him a questioning look. Jacob rolled his eyes.

"Because the servers are all up front drooling over him."

Bella made the shape of the word "Oh" with her mouth without actually sounding it.

"I don't know much about the guy. Only that he comes in, brings the house to its knees, then disappears without saying a word to anyone. A few weeks ago one of the waitstaff slid him a card with her number on it and he never called her. She hasn't stopped bitching about it since."

There went that damn belly confetti again.

Jacob shrugged. "Other than that, I have no idea. I heard about that weird exodus he made right in the middle of his set, and word is that he didn't show last week. So really, I'm no help. Sorry."

"No, it's totally okay, Jacob, I'm sorry for bugging you about it. I didn't really think that you'd know where he...I mean...thanks. I really appreciate it. And it's been great talking to you today. I've got your number!" She patted her bag like a pet as she strode slowly back towards the door.

She felt bad about Jacob. But in only a matter of moments, she would hear that bell ring again, and some masochistic part of herself longed to hear its song. If it was the closest she could get to him at this point, then it would have to do.

* * *

When she arrived home at dusk, the sound of football on the television and the smell of olive oil, garlic and basil blitzed her senses. Rosalie and Emmett were playing house.

"Hi guys," she said, breathless, as she disrobed her early winter attire, hanging her coat on a hook behind the door.

"Hey, come hang with us and watch the Giants whomp the Packers!" Rosalie called as Bella rounded the corner into the cozy living room they shared. She and Emmett were sitting side-by-side on the loveseat with matching shallow bowls of penne in their laps, and a bottle of cheap wine split between them on the coffee table. Rose wore an Eli Manning team jersey and Em had a red & blue scarf tied around his thick neck, although the apartment was steamy.

They looked so goddamned domestic.

"Buonasera, Bella Cigno! How goes it?" Emmett waved his fork in the air at her. "I cooked Italiano tonight in your honor. And it turned out gooood."

Bella smiled at him. It was virtually impossible to dislike the guy, even if he was every second in the process of stealing precious Rosalie away from her.

"Well grazie, Signore Hulk, it smells amazing. I'll be right out, just going to change. And for the record, I don't give a damn about the game, I'm only in it for the eats."

She gently closed the door, and jumped atop the twin bed that literally filled the tiny room. As her laptop powered up, she grabbed her sketchbook and began to draw.

Within minutes, Dot was standing atop a hillside. Before her a swarm of identical kitties stretched to the far edges of the page. Too many to count. A giant question mark stood at a sharp angle above her head as she surveyed the sea of tufts and pointy ears. In her paw she held a magnifying glass, but there were no spectacles in sight.

She tossed the book aside, scooping up the computer in her lap. Her skin glowed blue in the reflection of the screen as the familiar rainbow logo appeared. She typed.

_**Open Mic New York City**_

_Click_.

Five hundred and fifty-one thousand results. Huh. This might be harder than she'd thought.

She suspected the whole "leaving town" bit that Edward had played off with Alec and the security guard was a ruse. But it was mere instinct, and she had no proof of it. Committing herself to this hapless search went way beyond just leaping into faith. She knew it would literally be a miracle if she ever set eyes, or ears, on him again. Her heart clenched at the prospect.

She didn't even know what her motivation was for this quest. Only that it was her obligation to try.

From the other side of the door, Rosalie shrieked. Something about shoving a box of Wheaties up the referee's ass.

Cue to rejoin reality, if only temporarily.

Bella dug her fingertips into her scalp, dragging them across her head and pulling her hair with force, waking herself from her stupor. She stretched her neck and shoulders and quieted the computer. She would deal with those five hundred thousand links later on. Right now she had pasta to eat and football to ignore.

But first, just one quick thing...

She snuck out of her room and made a sharp u-turn directly to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Rosalie yelled from the couch. "Hey! What's taking you so long, lady girl? Come be pissy with me! I have a pom pom you can rattle."

"Just one minute!" Came Bella's muffled call from the other side of the door.

Rosalie was immediately suspicious, her eyes narrowed as she ordered to Emmett to take charge of the remote.

She approached quietly, knocking gently on the door. "Bella? Did you go to the restaurant? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine Rose, honest, I'll tell you all about it after the game. I'll be right out."

Rosalie paused a moment, listening with her ear pressed to the door. Something was funny with Bella, and she couldn't quite place it. The girl was usually such an easy read. But this was not your run of the mill bathroom break, of that she was certain.

She started to knock again, but stopped herself short, and instead touched her hand to the doorknob and twisted it silently, opening the door.

Bella was leaning in close to the large oval mirror above the pedestal sink, her face contorted in a mask of discomfort and horror.

"B, what the hell is wrong with your eye?" She demanded.

Bella crumpled her nose as she looked at her. Personal interruptions were a vital part of their relationship.

"Can you lift one eyebrow?"

In response, Rosalie's right brow peaked like a tent. Yeah, it figured.

Rose leaned against the wall and slowly eased her butt down to the floor, weaving her fingers together and resting them on top of her bent knees, never taking her eyes off of Bella in the process.

"What happened today?"

Bella shook her head. "Nothing Rose. Negative nothing. I'm not even at the start line, I'm, like, three and a half miles back of it."

"Well, you'd better get hustling along then, huh?"

Bella looked hard at her reflection as Rosalie watched from the floor. Her long dark hair hung in soft waves around her face, her curious dark eyes half-full as she watched her own head nod slowly but absolutely. Through this disjointed, secondhand view of herself, she could see now how determined she was. And how certain.

Yes. It was time to hustle along.

* * *

In the ten days since leaving Vitamin Direct, Edward had had breakfast for dinner (several times), read 3 novels (two Gaiman, one Palahniuk, Vonnegut on deck), played endless games of 'toss the puffball' with Jasper, walked for miles with no destination, almost completed a NYT crossword puzzle, played many games of South Park pinball at the bar near his house, thought about the girl more than he'd like to admit, and written two and a half new songs.

But he had not gone to open mic.

Whatever his new beginning was going to be, it had not realized itself yet, and its time was running short. He could feel his anxiety swelling and spreading every day. Strangers on the street became more and more intolerable. Food was tasting more bland and lifeless. And he kept fucking up simple chords on simple songs he'd been playing for years. That was the last straw. If he didn't perform soon, he was going to lose his mind.

During the first few days it had seemed so easy. Just stop. Stop doing this. Stop torturing yourself. Stop hiding. Stop running. Just stop. Stop. STOP.

But, like everything else in life, it's never so easy as that. Patterns set like tungsten grooves are impossible to reshape, and we're forced to continuously careen down the same slides all leading to the same fate. Then we use up all of our best efforts and strength to climb back up and take another ride. Giving up open mic had seemed like a reasonable idea in the heat of the moment, but was looking less and less likely as a long-term solution.

While it was true that Edward had not been to open mic since the ill-fated set at the Blue Mango, it did not stop him completely from performing. At night, when he always felt the most jittery and off balance, he would open the window next to his bed, and welcome in the chill November air. He sat on the window sill and played softly for the city, sometimes for hours, quietly singing along.

One of the new songs he'd written was about the one person who, in all these years, had seemed to see through his act. And about running fast and far away from it, because he knew that the less she really knew about him, the better she'd think of him. The better off they'd both be.

He always waited for a stiff breeze to blow to play that song, in hopes that perhaps the wind might pick it up and carry it along to her. A gift.

It was the most he could offer.


	7. stay

**a/n - Thanks again to all the great people who support this story. Tiffanyanne3 and Batgirl8968, my boo-tiful betas, and the awesome twitterfolk readers who have become my good friends. You guys make this all go 'round. Add me if you like, realimaginary.**

**Also, please remember that the Twilight Fandom Gives Back is raising money for childhood cancers now through November 20. Every penny counts, so make yours count!**

**Song for this chapter is _Dreams_ by the Cranberries**

* * *

Little Slugger - 7 - Stay

Before he was fully awake, Edward realized he was moving. A rattling, jostling sort of movement, completely inconducive to sleep. He slowly opened his eyes, feeling cloudy and confused as he took in the small space around him. The single large window showed darkness. Night. The grog in his skull was so thick, it took him the better part of a minute to register that he was on a train.

One side of his head ached dully from being wedged against the side of the bench he was sitting on. There were only a few dim yellow lights in the cabin; one above his head, and a series studded across the carpeted floor beneath his feet. As his brain and eyes adjusted, he saw an empty seat across from him, upholstered in a lush vintage stripe pattern of earthy greens and golds and reds. Above the empty seat was a luggage shelf, his guitar case atop it, secured with knots of hemp twine. He noted that he would need scissors to turn it loose.

The sounds of the train jangled in a rhythmic pattern like the undone sounds of a one man band. Edward wished for a moment his guitar was accessible so he could strum along to it.

He suddenly realized that he couldn't remember getting on this train. In fact, he'd never even seen one like it before. It was old-fashioned, paneled in grand dark wood, with curved lines and impractical details. He glanced across the aisle, finding a bench similar to the one he sat in, but empty.

He scooted through the narrow opening at the base of his bench and finally was able to get a view of the entire roving space. Seats just like the one he'd awoken in were fixed in a regular pattern down the length of the car. The ceiling of the car was paneled in the same dark wood, with matching, ornately carved crown molding squaring it off. The carpet below him was a rich crimson color with gold floral embellishments, and tiny lights were aglow across it every few feet. Even with the cadence of the giant rolling machine, the room felt silent, absent. Directly behind him was a rattling double door, also paneled in wood, presumably leading to the next car and to the back of the train.

Slowly, he took a step forward, uneasy about his dirty old boots trekking on the seemingly brand new carpet. He curiously made his way down the aisle, carefully checking each seat, in search of someone who might have some information. Someone who might know where this train was going.

Every seat was empty.

The shuddering, clanking doors to the car ahead lay before him. He looked back to the identical set of doors at the other end of the car, unsure of which way to go.

Tentatively, he reached out for the handle on the door nearest him, leading to the front of the train. The door was stuck, and he had to jerk it with force to unlatch it from its twin. When he did, the sounds of the train amplified threefold as the cold hard ground and dark tracks whizzed quickly beneath, openly revealed between this and the next car. Edward gasped, startled, and on a reflex, slammed the doors closed again. He glanced again at the other doors at the back of the car, but quickly decided that forward is where he was likely to find answers, and turned back with a deep breath.

The second time he opened the door with more ease, knowing what to expect when the screeching hiss of air assaulted his ears. The coupler between the two cars bounced unpredictably and would not make a reliable step to the platform leading to the next car. The gap was less than two feet, but the ground rushing past beneath him made it feel impassable.

He scowled down at the dangerous moving chasm. What choice did he have? Was he supposed to just sit there all alone and wait for some unknown truth to become apparent? If he was going to be prisoner to this speeding vessel, he at least wanted to know what direction he was moving in.

So Edward did what Edward rarely does. He got brave.

He took his eyes off of the gap and set his sights for the small platform on the other side, his landing strip. He muttered the briefest of prayers under his breath and jumped, landing awkwardly on the metal step, grasping hold of a steel bar above it with stretched, white knuckles. He spied a wedge of starlit sky in the space between the two rail cars. They were far from the city. From this spot, through the window across, he could also see the bench where he'd awoken.

Craving security, he tore open the next set of doors, but closed them gently behind him. The car was identical to the one in which he'd awoken. He walked tenderly down the aisle, craning his neck at each seat, anticipating some sign of someone, something.

But no. No suitcases, no books, no voices, no crumbs. Nothing. No one.

He jumped again to the next car, and the next, and the next after that, and after that still, finding nothing but the same varnished wood accents and elaborate textiles. His frustration was mounting, and just as he was about to turn around and renavigate towards the caboose, he spotted something through two panes of oval glass. A light. A beacon. He passed between, quickly now with practice, and saw at the end of the car, a sign.

In bright white lights, displayed above the doors, was one fateful word: CHICAGO.

_Chicago._ His heart sunk and stomach clenched. And yet some tiny piece of him danced with anxious excitement. _Home_.

His scattered thoughts were disrupted by the unexpected sound of doors opening directly behind him. He spun around, suddenly face-to-face with a man wearing a black conductor's uniform, again, not of this era. The man was familiar, though Edward couldn't immediately place his face.

The man's eyes were surprised as he looked down at Edward. "Mister Masen! What are you doing here already?" He snatched a pocket watch from its sheath and glared at it disapprovingly.

"This train is going to Chicago?" he asked evenly, with authority.

"Why yes, Sir, but not until..."

"How did I get on this train? I don't remember getting on this train," he demanded, impatient.

"I...I don't really understand your question, Mister Masen, but i do think you should be getting back to your seat before..."

At that point, two things happened simultaneously; Edward realized where he knew the conductor from, and he heard a small feminine voice whimpering unintelligibly behind him.

The man was Felix, the security guard from work. He was now leering at Edward, shaking his head in disappointment and throwing his hands out in front of him in an act of exasperated surrender. Edward had absolutely no idea what the guy was so worked up about. Felix turned around without another word and went back through the doors he'd just come through, towards the back of the train.

Edward hardly took notice of his strange departure, though, because he was already halfway down the aisle, seeking out the source of that lovely, tiny sound from a moment ago. As he approached the head of the car, just below the looming CHICAGO, he saw her.

He spied the modern rubber heel of her boot first, poking over the edge of the bench, and predictably, the heel led to the rest of her, curled up like a periwinkle on the old wooden bench, fast asleep.

What was she _doing _here? Why was this infuriatingly cute, good-natured woman so difficult to get away from? Why, when he should've been running in the other direction as quickly as possible, was he instead inspired to kneel beside her and brush aside that wayward strand of flossy dark hair from her smooth, ivory...

She vocalized; her soft, sleepy voice seemed urgent and concerned.

"Stay," she murmured with a frown. Her brow and hands twitched in unison.

Horrified, he turned to run back the other way. Then her lips moved again.

"Edward...stay..."

His blood ran cold for a moment, sure that she'd awoken and seen him, but when he turned back to her, her eyes remained closed. She was dreaming. About him.

Edward's breath caught in his throat and he grabbed his entire bottom lip with his teeth. Again with his goddamned name.

He wasn't sure which urge was stronger, the one to get the hell out off the train or the one to reach out and touch her, tell her that yes, yes, he was right there, and yes, he would stay. For once, he would. If she really wanted him to, he _would_ stay with her. He _could_ stay with her.

A moment later when she began to stir and her eyes opened halfway, the mighty flight urge proved victorious, and he ran. He ran as fast as he could, feeling the train quaking with the power of his steps, and ignoring the surge of noise and cold and fear that came with each gap between train cars.

He ran until he came to his seat. He only knew he'd arrived because his guitar was still there, trapped atop the luggage shelf. He paused only a moment, catching his breath before setting off again, barrelling through the unexplored cars. He didn't even know how many he'd gone through when he finally stepped into the last car.

And if he'd thought that the company at the front of the train had been terrifying, it was cookies and carousel horses compared to what awaited him at the back.

For there, sitting very still with his back straight and legs apart, holding a large weathered photo album on his lap, a dirty old Cubs hat housing his bronze-colored hair, and a dead-eyed, open-mouthed stare, was Edward's father.

* * *

The air outside was moist and cool, filling Bella's senses with rich, organic smells as the soft crunch of long orange pine needles sounded beneath her feet. She stepped between two giant wild ferns, greener than anything she'd ever seen before, and into a naturally formed forest clearing. A single ray of sunshine beamed down into the clearing, in a shape so distinctly cylindrical, she thought she might beam up to space if she dared to step inside it.

Above her, huge ancient trees sprang at all angles, curving up into the sky and shrouded in green moss that reminded Bella of the hideous sweater that her grandmother had knitted her as a Christmas gift when she was twelve. Either that, or a swamp bride. Beyond them, the sky was bright and blue, but difficult to see through the canopy of carpeted treetops.

Was she dead? Was this heaven? Could heaven look this much like Washington? No, it couldn't possibly.

She took slow, deliberate steps into the clearing, noticing suddenly that the forest was silent. And not just quiet, but completely devoid of all noise, as if the green squishy stuff had soaked up all the sound and stolen it from her delicate ears. It didn't alarm her, but instead gave her the sense that something was about to unfold. If this was the calm, then should she be preparing for a storm?

As if on cue, the air in the forest shifted, her hair fluttering across her shoulders. She turned around in a slow, purposeful circle in the clearing, seeking the purpose for the disruption, and at once she saw a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. Then another. And then, finally, a sound broke through the silence, and many others quickly followed.

The rustling of leaves, sticks snapping in two, the insulated thumping of heavy feet hitting the soft, marshmallow textured forest floor.

And yet again, against all odds, she did not feel frightened. She felt strong. She turned to face the direction the sounds were coming from, rounded her shoulders back and raised her chin high against it, whatever it was.

Far ahead in the forest, she saw something moving. And it was moving quickly. And in her direction. She stared in awe as it moved closer to her, traveling so fast it was nothing but a blur of silver and brown and red, streaking through the empty wilderness. Closer and closer it came, the earlier sounds increased in volume and intensity, echoing around the mossy forest around her.

Still, she stood tall.

The movement...the blur...the creature...whatever the hell it was, was quickly approaching the clearing where Bella stood. She didn't move a muscle. Instead, she waited, her eyes hard and daring. Whatever it was, she was ready for it.

_It_ moved into the clearing, a whir of fur and teeth and claws. Pounding the ground with its padded feet. It moved around her as a unit in anticipation of her standing there, splitting itself in two and rushing past her on both sides as if she were a tiny lone island in the midst of rushing springtime waters.

It took her a moment to realize that_ it_ was not_ it _at all. _It_ was many its. Wolves. Dozens of them, maybe hundreds, she couldn't even tell, they were dashing past at such great speed her eyes couldn't even adjust to the shape of them as they raced by, creating a current of air so strong around her, it made the strands of hanging moss in the trees above wave about like laundry hung to dry.

And still, she stood tall. Waiting.

As the pack moved through, it began to thin, and then they were scattered, following behind the rest. She had adjusted to their movements at this point, and was able to get a better sense of their speed and size. Fast and big.

Suddenly, she realized that the last of them had moved past her. Looking ahead in the forest, she saw nothing. So she turned in the direction that the wolves had run.

A lone wolf was standing in the clearing, still and silent, and not more than ten feet away from her. He was huge, on four legs standing almost as tall as she was, his long, tawny fur was wild and shaggy, and his semi-bared canines shone sharp in the muted daylight, but his eyes were dull and kind. She looked directly into them.

After a moment, he turned and trotted back in the direction the others had gone, pacing a hundred yards before stopping again and turning to look at her. She stood tall.

He lurched his giant head once, urging her to follow, and this time, she did. She stepped slowly towards him, still unafraid. The wolf, seemingly satisfied, turned as well and continued into the forest, padding along at a gentle pace that was easy for her to keep up with. They walked like this, with at least twenty yards between them, for several minutes. At some point, she noted that the forest was mute again. And aside from the rustled pine needles beneath her feet, there was no sign at all of the massive pack of dogs that had moved through earlier.

The large red wolf led her silently through the dense awning of trees, only occasionally looking back to assure she was still following. And she always was.

Bella noted a light ahead, a few hundred yards away. A clearing. The wolf stopped at the entrance of it and stood waiting for her. She took wide, deliberate steps and was soon at its side, glancing around it and peeking into the sunny meadow that lay beyond the natural marquee of crooked trees and moss-covered boulders. She looked down at the wolf and smiled at his adoring gaze, stretching out her hand to pet him firmly, him firmly behind the ear and under his chin. His fur was soft but rugged, somehow not what she had expected. His eyes narrowed in bliss at the gesture, but when she took her hand away, without pause, he quickly turned around and disappeared into a dark corridor of the forest.

Bella felt startled by his departure for a moment, and perhaps a bit sad, insulted. But then she heard it. The sound of an acoustic guitar, quietly strumming.

She turned around and walked into the clearing, towards the sound, unafraid and knowing exactly what she was going to find there. She smiled again, broader this time, as she stepped into the unnaturally circular meadow, fully furnished with late season weeds and colorful wildflowers reaching to her thighs.

And there, sitting Indian style in the middle of the meadow, with his unkempt hair, worn Converse All-Stars, and a curiously placed expression of careless joy, was Edward.

She thought about walking towards him, not startling him, engaging him, talking quietly...but instead, she ran, parting a sea of green grass beneath her feet.

He didn't look up as she approached, although she hadn't been the least bit stealthy. He continued to play and hum softly along, tilting his face up to the sun with his eyes closed and the strangest smile on his face.

She reached for him; she couldn't help it. She had never, ever, seen anyone look so happy, so...content, and it was sort of the most glorious thing ever, and despite all of her internal alarms telling her to do otherwise, her fingertips reached down towards him and grazed the skin of his angular jaw...

_click_..."like an accident in the midtown tunnel has things tied up just outside of Queens, police are urging motorists to find another way in this morning."

"Sounds like a mess out there, Phil. Thanks for the report."

"No problem. I'll be back in thirty."

"This is WRXP, New York, goooooood morning, everyone..."

* * *

**a/n - Oh, aren't I a stinker.**

**So...have any good dreams lately?**


	8. flower chase the sunshine

**A/N**

**Oh, my...this was a much longer wait than I'd hoped for. My apologies. I got this very strange job writing hotel descriptions, and literally lost three weeks of my life while I did it. But, I'm out the other end of the rabbit hole now, and I'm thrilled to finally bring this to you guys. Thanks for your patience. :)**

**All my thanks, as always, to my amazing PTB betas, Tiffanyanne3 and Batgirl8968 and my Twilighted validation beta Strider.**

**I want to send special thanks in this chap to my friend and the best story cheerleader in the world, SunKing, who not only has a host of her own Twi-fic stories, but also has a novel being published this week. For real. Find her at ff (dot) net or on Twitter sunkingff . She's made of all good things.**

**The wonderful venis_envy has started a Little Slugger thread on the Twilighted forums - I'd love for you to check it out and chime in.**

**Can I also give out a quick shout to the ladies who organized The Fandom Gives Back? Wow. Just wow. What an amazing outpouring, from everyone involved. Further proof that our entanglement with this is so much more than a guilty pleasure. I'm such a chicken for not putting something in. :(**

**On Twitter? Follow me! realimaginary .**

**Two songs for this chapter, both by The Smashing Pumpkins - Bella, _Snail _and Edward, _Rhinoceros_. Two peas in a pod, in both respects. Chapter title has been blatantly ripped off of Billy Corgan. Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Little Slugger - 8 - Flower Chase the Sunshine

"You done with this?" Rosalie asked as she whisked by Bella's chair, grabbing her quarter-full juice glass into her own hand as she cruised by, not waiting for an answer. Bella murmured something unintelligible in response, barely glancing up from her notebook. Rose slugged down what was left of the juice and stood leaning against the counter for a moment, eyeing Bella with a smile. "So...what's the news in open mic-land?" she queried.

Bella continued scanning the list written in her notebook with her pencil and didn't look up.

"Um...no news. Lots of really, really bad singing, terrible lyrics, some squeaky guitar notes, one guy barfed all over the front row and another girl did a strip tease while playing a pink flying-V ukulele and a rape whistle at the same time. That was actually pretty awesome...but no, no Edward," she sighed, drawing a quick star next to one of her listings and tossing her pencil down on the old 1950's-era kitchen table they shared. It made a tiny mark on the surface and Bella smudged it away with her thumb before looking up at Rosalie. "I'm beginning to think it's possible he really did leave town. I've been to nine different open mic nights over the last two weeks, Rose. I don't even like going to open mic. I don't know why I'm doing this any more."

Rosalie looked at her directly and raised her brow. "Sure you do."

"Ugh, stop doing that eyebrow thing, it's making me crazy! No, seriously Rose, this is starting to get stupid," Bella frowned, "and embarrassing." She looked down, focusing on the strange, amorphous retro shapes that seemed to exist only to decorate vintage Formica tabletops and chose one to trace around with her pinkie nail.

Rosalie shrugged and turned towards the sink, filling the juice glass with water and scrubbing it quickly twice before rinsing and popping it back in the cupboard above.

"Of course, it's your choice," she began. "But I haven't seen you immerse yourself in a project like this in a really long time. It's fun, watching you be all focused and passionate." She singsonged both the words "focused" and "passionate," making Bella roll her eyes. But before they made a complete rotation, she felt the blush begin to spread.

She covered her face with her hands in a moot gesture. There was no point in trying to be sly around Rosalie.

Rose took two short strides across the kitchen to Bella, and touched the notebook with her perfectly manicured fingertip, sliding her finger down the list 'til she got to the one that Bella had starred before.

"This one."she tapped it twice with her nail. "When is it?"

Bella separated her fingers just enough for her eyes to peek through. She looked down at the one Rosalie was referring to. "Tonight," she garbled through the crack in her palms.

"Great. I'm coming with you."

Bella shook her head vigorously, hands still covering her face, waiting for the stubborn blush to subside. "It's Thursday, you and Em have snooker."

Rosalie leaned in close and squinted at the notebook, memorizing the listing. "It's no problem. Garrett's girlfriend Kate has been dying to utilize her role as 'sub' on our team for two months. I can tell by the way she stares that she's trying to will the lighting fixtures to fall on me while I'm shooting. I've actually been worried for my safety. How about I give her a chance to play, and give you a little company, alright?"

It was phrased like a question, but Rosalie never really asked. She told with a question mark.

Bella nodded, resigned, and slowly brought her hands down from her face despite the lingering heat. She looked up at her most beloved friend with solemn eyes. "Fine, but this is it, Rose. I am burned the hell out on this. If he's not there, I am calling the search party off and me and Dot are gonna brush the dust off and move on. Deal?"

Rosalie firmly held out her hand to shake. "Deal."

* * *

"Seriously, I don't know why you're coming with me tonight Rose. The music's going to suck, and he's not going to be there and..."

"Listen," Rose commanded without looking over to Bella as they walked along, their hands stuffed in their pockets, chins tucked tightly under their necks. "Let's just forget all of this. Let's just think of it as hanging out together. We haven't done that enough lately, and I miss being with you. So don't think about anything but getting a drink and just chillin' with your girl Rose, 'kay?" Bella glanced over and nodded slightly. "And you're right, the odds are that he won't be there." She shifted her sight across to her friend, gauging her response. Bella didn't say anything, but her eyes narrowed and her shoulders rolled backwards, and she stood tall as she walked. Rosalie smiled.

They walked in silence for another minute before Bella stopped and yanked the notebook from her bag. She looked at it and then up. This was it. The North Star. The irony of the name wasn't lost on Bella. Pocket Nancy Drew thought it was a huge clue and had been cartwheeling over it all afternoon. Bella thought she was being silly. And fanciful. Two things Bella just couldn't bring herself to be at this particular point of this particularly strange quest. After nine fruitless attempts, it was possible that she had heard one out-of-key ballad too many.

As they walked in the door, Bella felt a surge of excitement, though. The same one she felt every time she went to open mic. Some might call it nerves, others might refer to it as pure unadulterated terror, but she preferred to think of it as excitement, or she'd U-turn right back to the cute family-owned pharmacy down the street and order up an aspirin and a milkshake.

"Waitaminute." Bella stopped dead in her tracks before the door had even closed behind them and grabbed the fuzzy wool arm of Rosalie's purple coat with her mittened hand. "We never talked about what was going to happen if he's actually here." Her eyes were wide with semi-panic at the realization.

"But Bella," Rosalie argued with mock severity, "we already decided that he's not going to be." She unbuttoned her coat as she stepped forward to assess the space and the crowd.

Bella grabbed Rosalie's shoulder forcefully and yanked her back. "Okay. Fine. So we wouldn't be here if there wasn't some possibility of it. And yes, I hope he is because this is my last attempt at this and I have invested a really bizarre amount of personal thought and time into this. Are you freaking happy now?" Her eyes were blazing, but soft, vulnerable.

Rosalie wagged innocent eyes at her and nodded sweetly. "I am. And...since you asked," she continued, "if he is actually here, **this** is what's going to happen. I am going to look him up and down and over and around, in every pocket and behind each ear, and then I am going to make him look me right in the eye and tell me in straight US English that he is deserving of all this. And of you. And if at that point I am satisfied, then I'm going to stand in the shadows and scrutinize every move he makes and every word he says."

"He doesn't really say much. At least not that I know of." Bella said quietly, looking thoughtfully at the floor. Then she shook her head clear and glared at Rosalie as if she'd heard the last part first and the first part last. "Rose! No! No, you're not! God!"

"Relax, darlin'," Rosalie chuckled at her. "That was the _As Rosalie's World Turns_ version. But you know I would if I could." She sighed wistfully. "I do wonder, though, if perhaps I should ask you the same question? What are _you_ going to do if he's here?"

Bella slipped out of her coat and hung it on her arm, taking in the room for the first time. It was one huge space, separated down the middle by a heavy red velvet curtain. They were on the left side of the curtain, which was a bustling cafe and espresso bar with leather chairs and love seats with coffee tables situated in small groups around the space, creating miniature living rooms and filled with people of every sort, or, at least every sort of person who used a Mac Book Pro.

"Do you smell something kinda...funky?" Bella asked, beginning to get anxious about what might be on the other side of the curtain.

Here she was, potentially in the midst of her very own Wizard of Oz moment. Didn't it figure she'd be too nerved up to enjoy it.

"I'm pretty sure what you are smelling is the aroma of delicious Fakin' Bacon crisping in the fryer, my dear," Rosalie answered, scrunching her nose towards the open kitchen. "Vegan restaurant, what luck. And don't go changing the subject on me like that. I showed you mine, now you show me yours. What are you planning to say to this young lad should your opportunity arise?" She raised both brows this time.

"I don't know," Bella answered simply.

Rosalie jerked backwards and stared at Bella with incredulous eyes. "So. Let me get this straight. You've done this ten times over the last three weeks and you haven't even planned what you're even going to say to him?"

Bella furrowed her brow, and she grabbed hold of a piece of loose yarn popping out of her scarf, fussing with it. Anything to keep from having to rival Rosalie's bewildered stare. "I am depending on the universe to bring me to where he is, right? So...I figure I'll also depend on it to give me the right words when the time comes...if the time comes...which it isn't going to." She paused a moment, biting her bottom lip as she assaulted the tiny piece of free yarn between her thumb and forefinger. "Don't you think..." her voice vanished to a whisper. "Don't you think that making a plan is just a little...presumptuous?"

Rosalie barely waited until the question was all the way out of her mouth before she sauntered forward toward the curtain with speed, her hips shifting side to side like windshield wipers, leaving Bella behind. "I think you're putting way too much faith in the universe," she said as she walked away, loudly enough for Bella, and most of the cafe patrons, to hear.

Worried but determined, Bella took a deep breath, reset her face, and raced after her friend. Rosalie was waiting for her at the back corner of the room, next to the curtain that would lead them to the club side, where open mic night was already underway.

"Shall we?" she asked.

Bella didn't answer her. She didn't acknowledge her at all, in fact. Instead, she reached over Rosalie and yanked the curtain aside, scooting around her and stepping over, letting the heavy fabric fall onto Rosalie's face as it swung backwards, smudging her lipstick and dislodging her carefully situated hair comb. Rosalie smiled.

In her hurry to show what she was made of, Bella inadvertently bumped into the table closest to the curtain, making the guy who was sitting there spill beer on himself. A trail of whispered "sorry's" and "excuse me's" and "pardon me's" finally led them diagonally across the large room, to the closest of the available tables, near the wall about twelve feet in front of the bar.

The performance and bar half of the North Star was remarkably different from the other side. It was hard to remember that it was a shared space, even. It was extremely dark, aside from the stage lighting hitting the wall opposite the curtain, and the thin crevice of light that escaped from the top of the curtain. Round bistro tables with two and three chairs around them littered the wide-open space in front of the stage in no particular pattern, most of them occupied. There were probably thirty people seated, watching a trio of 50-something year old men singing what sounded like a cover of a 70's rock tune. But because covers were usually frowned upon at open mic (she had learned a few things over the last three weeks), she assumed that it was some sort of original cover inspired by the whole of 70's rock.

Rosalie scanned her eyes around the dark room, glancing at the faces glowing the stage lights and then to Bella, eyebrows raised in silent question. In response, she looked around the room vaguely, protecting herself from heartache by looking too hard as her eyes moved around the room, just sort of absently breezing over the anonymous faces. Until she...

She stopped.

But she didn't _stop_, stop, because the moment she saw him, full profile, sitting alone at a table two back from the stage, his head tilted back at a sharp angle as he finished what was left of his Guinness, keeping one eye on the trio, his messy hair pointing in all directions, she made the instantaneous, and very firm, decision that she was not planning to let Rosalie in on what she'd just seen. And it was going to require her very best in faux aloofness to get away with it. Rosalie might think that she had Bella's number in every situation, but Bella had a tiny little reserve of _no-way-in-Hale-can-she-take-this-from-me _in her arsenal. But only enough to get through the night.

Assuming the night didn't last very much longer.

Knowing Rose would presume worry and disappointment, Bella put on her disappointed-with-a-hint-of-worry face, tinged it with just a fleck of understanding and acceptance, and looked back at her, shrugging her shoulders. She reached down into her bag to retrieve her sketchbook and trusty Mr. 2, the only man in her life. 'Til maybe now.

Rosalie scowled at her. "So, he's not here, and this means that you're going to draw pictures on our date? Sheesh, at least let me buy you a drink first."

Bella grinned up at her apologetically. "A Guinness." Rosalie curtsied and trotted off to the bar, which was situated behind their table.

Rosalie suspected nothing. It was a miracle. This was her chance.

_C'mon, universe, you know you love me..._she summoned.

She looked back at Edward and she stared. With everything she had, she stared, knowing she had a minute, two at the absolute most. She drilled holes into his temple with her eyes, begging him to glance over her way. Completely sure that if he actually did, he very well might knock his chair over backward and run out of the room with his arms flailing around in the air in sheer horror. It didn't matter to her anymore. This was it, her last try, and she had seen so much bad open mic she could cry, and oh my God, he was actually freaking _**here**_, and she was going to go all the way if it killed her.

So she stared like a supervillan with laser beam eyes, searing into the good guy's skull...

* * *

Before he even had the conscious notion that he had eyes on him, he looked over to the energy coming from diagonally backwards. It wasn't until after that he'd recognized that he'd known someone was staring at him before his head had moved to meet the gaze.

To meet _her_ gaze.

'Cause yeah, of all the people in the Goddamned world, there she was. The girl. Her dark hair was pinned up in a little round bun on top of her head with a few sharp, wayward pieces sticking out, her far too familiar brown eyes staring at him with such intense ferocity, he wasn't even sure that she'd yet registered that he was looking back at her.

And then, after a moment, her face cleared of the voodoo cloud, and she looked at him in a way not at all like he'd imagined she might in all the many times he'd imagined it over the last month. Not with surprise, or shock, or fear, or even shyness. Instead, her eyes were bright and wide, and her mouth was fighting the allowance of raised edges. She looked...amazed, and in awe, not totally unlike the last time he'd seen her. But determined. Damn, she looked really determined.

He couldn't even collect his thoughts enough to know what his face might possibly look like to her. He'd been sitting there finishing his beer, deciding between having another or bolting for the night. He liked coming to preview a new open mic night after it had a few months to establish itself. And he'd been beyond desperate to find a new place to play after the undoing. That's what had brought him here tonight. He liked this room, dark and confined-feeling, despite its large size, and he'd already decided that this was the place where he would break his vow to himself and step back up on the stage.

And he'd been feeling pretty damn serene in that moment, too. That moment of tranquil peace that comes right after a decision has been made. Because for all the complications he forced upon his own life, he needed this to borrow against them. Performing was the only thing that made his life feel simple. The only thing that made _him_ feel simple. And after the emotional roller coaster of the last five weeks - Christ, who was he kidding, the last ten years - he was feeling desperate for some simple.

And just as quickly as he'd let the simple in, it suddenly exploded into ten thousand splintered shards of exquisite complicated, and she was there.

It was just like that day at work, so long ago, when she'd popped up over the top of that cubicle wall and they'd just stared at each other, as if it were the most natural thing on earth for them to do. But after all he'd put himself through since leaving Vitamin Direct, he felt surprisingly unafraid seeing her again. He'd been weakened to a point of breakage, and the sight of her did not bear down on that so much as it maybe relieved it a bit.

This feeling of ease was wildly unlike him, and ironically that threw him completely off ease. But that's not what he was thinking about at that particular moment. Right then he was wondering what his face was revealing to her.

The last week especially had been so difficult, he could only assume that the very sight of her was portraying nothing but pure relief. That mortified him. His stomach flipped. Did this mean he would now have to speak to her? Because that was surely asking too much. Inwardly, he began to panic and considered just jumping up and leaving, as was his way.

But something moved over her face just then that was strange, breaking him from the thought. She looked away and seemed distracted. His heart sunk. Had his expression given her the wrong idea? Had his indecision about talking to her shown through? What should he expect really? The last time he'd seen her he'd gone to great lengths to get as far away from her as he possibly could. It had made sense to him at the time, but now he...argh...his thoughts were wildly scrambled as he realized this may literally be the last chance he...

Suddenly, she glanced back, lifting her delicate pointer finger to him then, as if to say "one moment," and her head turned towards the bar behind her, where a tall, buxom blonde type wearing ridiculously high heels had her elbows up on the bar and one foot balancing in the air, leaning in towards the bartender and laughing at him. With him. At him. With him. It was hard to tell with girls like that.

Bella looked back to Edward, this time with authority and purpose written all over her face. Business. He felt relief that she hadn't abandoned him, but incredible anxiety as she nodded slightly towards the stage and then back at him, raising her brows. She was asking if he was going to perform tonight. It felt so...bizarre to be having this interaction with her, HER, especially like this, with yards of weeks and darkness and furniture and strangers between them. And this music, the soundtrack of this strange moment, gah! When were these dudes going to stop trying to summon up the ghost of Lynard Skynard?

He shook his head no in response to her and slowly raised his arm, holding up his empty beer bottle and wiggling his wrist. Despite himself, he felt half his mouth turn up in a bit of a grin. And, of course, she smiled back gloriously in return, nodding in understanding, and then her face quickly fell back into its determined posture. She took a breath so deep it stretched her three inches taller for a moment.

And then, they stared, with some purpose, it seemed. What scientist could have such a mind and heart to create a translator for this particular conversation? Edward had a sudden interest in the field of quantum telepathy.

After a moment of looking at her, marveling in her very presence there before him, and wondering what the hell she could possibly be thinking, her eyes went cold and her head fell, her hands quickly going to work on something in a notebook placed on the table in front of her. The room immediately looked and felt different after that, and he felt as if he'd been yanked straight out of bed in the midst of a lucid dream.

The blonde arrived at their table then, with a glass of red wine in one hand and a Guinness in the other. She offered the beer to Bella and held the glass up high, admiring her lovingly, as she recited some sort of lengthy, dramatic toast. Bella smiled at her, laughing at times, and watched her with great affection. They clinked and drank, and then Bella industriously went back to work on whatever was in front of her, occasionally taking a sip from her beer.

They seemed so unlikely a match, those two, whatever their relationship was. The blonde appeared so refined, conformed, cosmetically engineered and defined by the mantra of Maybelline. And Bella appeared so...the opposite of all that. But however odd it seemed on the surface, it very obviously functioned well in the deep down. He felt a pang of envy in their connection for a moment, and then smiled when he forced himself to think about Alice and Jasper, at home, likely napping, wound around each another on his bed like a yin yang, awaiting his arrival home.

Bella and her friend sat for some time, chatting, sipping, giggling as Bella was drawing - she was definitely drawing, he could see now - with fast, confident strokes and occasionally she looked up at the blonde, always smiling. Perhaps even beaming. But she never once looked in his direction while she worked. Edward tried to mind his own business, pretending to watch the young songstress who had taken the stage, still holding his empty bottle, turning it around and around in his hands and still considering another. And still considering making a swift exit, out of pure, raw stress.

He had no idea what he was supposed to do. What she wanted him to do. For some reason she was keeping the interaction with him from her friend, he understood that much. The idea of leaving the club without at least one more attempt at silent conversation with her didn't feel right, but the very notion of approaching her at the table with her friend looking on was one hundred percent out of the question. So he sat, quietly drumming his foot on the floor and waited, hoping with patience that the answer would find him instead of him finding it.

Eventually, it did.

Thirty uncertain, empty beer bottle fondling minutes later, Bella slammed the notebook shut and said something definitive to the blonde, smiling sadly. Her friend nodded and touched her hand tenderly, holding it for a moment and telling her something that made her nod solemnly, and then she lifted the blonde's hand and kissed it, smiling warmly at her. The whole interaction was utterly tender and completely fascinating. Edward knew that Bella knew that he would be watching every move she made. And that is what she showed him.

Her friend stood up and pulled her coat off the back of her chair, asking Bella something that made her shake her head vigorously no. Bella waved her on ahead and then grabbed for her own jacket, slipping it over her arms. Edward swallowed hard at the sight, and was attacked by a surge of emotion he was so well acquainted with it was practically family. Fear. But he wasn't sure exactly which scared him more - the idea of her walking out the door without acknowledging him again or the idea of attempting an actual conversation with her.

The blonde turned, leaving their table, and walked to the very back of the room, pushing on a door and disappearing into the room behind it. She had to pee. Bella was still at the table, and the moment her friend was out of sight she looked immediately back to Edward and smiled, mock swiping the sweat from her forehead off in a gesture of relief. _Phew_, she mouthed. Edward was too unsettled to smile back, though he tried, but was quite sure it looked like nothing less than a petrified twitching grimace.

He watched intently as she then reopened the notebook, pulling out a page and folding it in half, then tossed her things into her bag and rising to leave, glancing over to him one more time and smiling slightly. He felt that sudden urge to bolt again, feeling satisfied with the silent conversation but completely unsure about the idea of having one with actual words.

But instead of approaching his table as he feared she might, she slung her bag over her head and across her shoulder and walked towards the bar behind her, stopping briefly to chat with the bartender. She laid the folded paper down on the lacquered wooden surface and turned just once to point in the direction of his table. Edward jerked his attention to the stage, horrified at being caught watching, but immeasurably grateful to realize that she seemed to understand his limitations. However bizarre and unreasonable they may be.

He didn't look back again. Instead, he set his sights intently on a small white athletic tape "X" on the stage and made a plan. He would count to one hundred. Slowly. If by then he had seen no sign of the paper, he would stand up and run home as fast as he could. He was afraid of what the paper said. He was afraid she would want to see him. He was afraid she wouldn't want to see him. He was afraid that if they saw each other, she would expect him to act normally. Though, really, how could she expect any of that after the nonsensical interactions they had already had?

With trepidation, he realized that he couldn't even remember what his life had been like before all of this insanity began. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen...

What little confidence he had wavered as he counted. Maybe she hadn't meant for the paper to be for him after all. How had he gotten so bad at reading behaviors? Was this girl bewitched? Had she been sent to shoo him from his resident cave of comfort and avoidance? At this point it wouldn't be long before he was forced to trade its protection for the psychiatric ward.

Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven...

Feeling like a freaking lunatic as he approached seventy-two, the bartender sidled up to his table, lowering to a squat next to his chair. Even while expecting it, Edward jumped backwards in his seat and eyed the man carefully. He was carrying the folded white paper from Bella's notebook in one hand and a fresh Guinness in the other and set them on the table before him.

"Compliments of the brunette who was sitting over there," he spoke in a low, friendly voice. He raised his eyebrows twice and patted him lightly on the back, casually reaching to take the empty bottle from his hands.

Edward reflexively retracted from him, having a brief, irrational moment of not wanting to let him take the bottle. He wanted to keep it. At some point during the evening he had come to think of it as some sort of twisted souvenir.

He realized after a moment that there was absolutely no sane way of explaining that to the barkeep, and he reluctantly handed it over, missing the security of its touch within seconds. And leaving him alone with..._it_.

The bartender nodded once and turned tail back to his post at the far end of the room. Edward stared at the new contents of his table, too terrified to touch either for several minutes. First, he grabbed the beer, chugging half of it down in the first sip as preparation for what was coming next.

The paper sat folded on the table, white against black, a single hope floating in an ocean of despair. He was not naive. He was aware that there was some possibility that the note merely scrawled in big messy writing, "_GET A FUCKING LIFE, MASEN, I WAS JUST HERE HAVING A DRINK WITH MY FRIEND._" And that would be the truth.

He had nothing to lose, not even a life. There was nothing in that note that could make anything worse than it already was. So slowly, he reached for it, touching it lightly at first, as if it were a delicate lace doily instead of a heavy-duty artist quality sheet of paper. He held it, still folded, in his hands for a moment, admiring the tattered edges where she'd torn it from the spiral binding and recognizing the irony of it serving as a symbol of his best last hope. For whatever.

He slid his finger under the fold and lifted it up quickly, like ripping an old band aid off a particularly painful wound.

When his eyes feasted on what she had presented him, he sucked in an audible breath and instinctively brought his hand to his mouth. And he might've laughed, if only the urge to cry hadn't been so strong.


	9. meet me there

realgirl-imaginarylife  
Little Slugger - 9 - Meet Me There

**A/N**

**See end note for my tardy excuses, etc.**

**Big big thanks to wickedcicada for recommending Little Slugger at The Little Known Ficster. As Charlotte would say, Humble.**

**Also, as always, much love and appreciation to my amazing betas TiffanyAnne3 and Batgirl8968, and all my twitter-friends and supporters.**

**You all have waited long enough for this…so let's proceed, shall we? **

**Song for this chapter is _Hello Hello_ by Dan Zanes.  
**  
**Yep, still not mine.**

* * *

Edward's eyes darted frantically from one side of his tiny apartment to the next.

In the closet? Under the bed? Surely he had a nice big cardboard box lying around somewhere? The dumpster outside?

He was looking for a hiding spot. Any hiding spot. His normal means of camouflage were not going to cut it tonight. He had decided against going at all at least fourteen times over the course of the last fifteen minutes. And yet, as he listed for himself over and over the myriad of reasons why it was a terrible idea to go at all, sometimes out loud, all the while he continued to get ready to go. He fed the cats. He tuned his guitar. He even changed his pants three times before growling at himself in disgust and throwing on a pair of old jeans.

Now the annoying clock on the wall in the shape of the face of Felix the cat was mocking him, its smug cartoon eyes and tail floating back and forth, back and forth with every tick and tock, just like the decision-making pendulum inside him. It was time to go. Or time to stay.

Either way, it was time to choose.

He leaned his back up firmly against the doorway, his coat already on and buttoned up high around his neck, and he slid slowly down the length of it to the floor, where he clutched two fistfuls of hair tightly and breathed in long and deep through his nose, feeling the air filling his head like a balloon. He only wished he were lucky enough for it to just pop.

He glanced up at the clock again, and it continued to taunt him.

_Tick Tock Tick Tock Ed Ward Ed Ward Lo Ser Lo Ser._

Slowly, he slid his hand into the pocket of his jacket, never once breaking eye contact with the deriding plastic cat he'd saved from a junk pile on the street several years ago (after his interaction with the kind security guard at Vitamin Direct, he'd felt a special bond with the clock, but he was suddenly regretting owning it now), and lifted out a folded piece of paper. THE folded piece of paper. Carefully, he lifted its worn, now delicate edges.

The graphite-stained page was smudged from nearly constant handling over the last seven days. The spiral busted edges were now worn to a soft, petal-like fringe, quarter-framing the paper like some sort of doctoral certification of his sheer anxiety - as if he'd really needed any formal proof.

With this note she had changed the game. Just as he'd feared she might. Just as he hoped she would. He looked down at it and sighed, again.

The drawing was remarkably well-crafted, and he'd long admired its charming quality, especially given the quickness and ease in which she'd drawn it that night. He half-smiled at the memory of their interaction, but immediately frowned when his eyes passed over his likeness - a humanized feline cartoon wearing a familiar worn plaid checkerboard shirt and sporting the easily recognizable frames of his glasses. The one on the stage with the guitar. The one singing on the stage while another cat with a dotted bow between her ears sat below him at the first table. Watching him. Two femininely-curved bottles set on the table in front of her and an empty chair was across from her.

She had made him into a cat. That is how unique and strange this girl was. And not only had she made him into a cat, but she'd made herself into one to match him.

The large picture window behind the stage was there. The huge velvet curtain to the left of the stage was there. Tiny round cafe tables barely large enough for two were there. There was no doubt about it, it was the North Star. Across the bottom of the page, in large, neat, bold text were written two confident, hefty words: **NEXT WEEK**.

She was inviting him - no - she was _expecting_ him to sing with her sitting right there in front of him. And as if that wasn't already bad enough, there was no doubt in his mind that the second bottle wasn't to calm her own nerves, it was to calm his. And that seat across from her was also for him. To sit down at. With the girl cat. The Isabella cat.

As it had a hundred times over the course of the week each time he soaked in the drawing, the joy and fear that had been born inside him collided in a fiery crash in the pit of his abdomen.

This time there would be no blonde, no charades and no expanse of the room between them.

So, say he actually _found_ the strength to show up, to sing a set and to sit down and drink that second beer. After all that - risking more than he had in years - he would have to take it a thousand steps further and actually say something. To her. His lips pursed and his stomach expertly tied Boy Scout-quality boating knots at the thought. Was he seriously ready for that?

There really was no question. The answer was blindingly and pathetically obvious - he absolutely was not.

But still, despite all the internal alarms ringing and buzzing in his head, working to convince him to run to the nearest sanctuary and find the darkest and most confined hiding spot he could find, he would show up tonight. And he knew that she would be there, waiting for him.

Beyond that, he knew or guessed absolutely nothing. And despite the hundreds of times that he had climbed atop that open mic stage over the years, he easily considered this particular climb the most vulnerable of his life. Was he intrigued by the strange connection he seemed to have with her? Definitely. Was he impressed by her act of sheer heroism in even getting him to consider meeting her, much less performing in front of her first? No doubt. Was he desperately afraid of leaving her disappointed tonight? He sighed. Yes.

He hadn't interacted with another human being except from what was absolutely necessary for YEARS. And now, out of nowhere appeared this girl who communicated with him so easily through these silly and wonderful cartoon creatures - "Hey, come. Do your thing, let me watch and then we'll share a beer."

So much simpler on paper, as many things are. Like police reports, for instance. And divorce decrees.

And yet here he was, allowing his careful set of personal rules to be completely reworked by a cartoon! And ironically - he chuckled - by two cats.

As if on cue, Jasper and Alice padded to him in perfect unison, Alice climbing atop his lap and nudging his face with the top of her head, and Jasper sitting proudly nearby just waiting for a scratch, both purring for their own needs to be met, and perhaps in their own way, urging him to do the same.

He stroked them both across their necks with love. Without these cats, he would've lost his humanity long ago.

He knew by now he would be there tonight. What he didn't know was how it would change him. It's not every day you recieve a custom-made invitation to rejoin the human race. Even he, an everyman's fool on so many levels, couldn't heed the compulsion to avoid this.

_This is going to end badly_, he thought grimly. _She will likely be charming and expect you to be the same. And you won't, because you aren't._

With the thought echoing in his head, he grabbed his guitar case and ushered himself out the door, one way to his own crossroads.

* * *

"You're not eating," Rosalie observed, handing a bottle of ketchup across the table as a motivating gift. Bella shook her head and manically bounced the bottom of her spoon against the pile of scrambled eggs on her plate.

"I'm not hungry."

"What's wrong, Bella? You've been so chipper all week long. Having a resurgent case of open mic flu?" she asked suggestively.

Bella glared across to Rosalie's still outstretched arm and snatched the ketchup from her hand. She poured out a small red hill on her plate next to the eggs and sat staring at it for a moment.

"No. My job sucks. This dinner sucks. I am grumpy. Deal with it."

Rosalie stared at her, deadpan. "You made dinner."

"I did, yes. And it sucks," Bella spat back, forking a piece of egg and launching it into her mouth, the corners of her lips moving upward in a small smile.

Rose smiled back, relieved, but her eyes were troubled as she searched Bella's face for her true mood.

"You have plans for the night?" she asked.

Bella shrugged lazily, playing off the lie she was about to tell. "Thinking about heading to Esperanto with my friends sketch and dos, filling us all up with several cups of unreasonably timed coffee and then see what else the night has to offer. You're back to snooker this week, yes?"

She chuckled softly. "Yeah. Kate was a beautifully wicked disaster last week. They're anxious to have me back." She paused and looked at Bella skeptically. "You're okay?"

She snorted loudly, a response so overblown that it nearly tattered the carefully worn veil of secrecy she'd been wearing around Rosalie all week long. "I'm fine, Rosie, honest. No worries about the Bellabug, 'kay? Me is good. Everything's good. Wheee!" She flew her fork haphazardly around her face like a rogue airplane, landing it confidently in her mouth.

Rosalie gaped.

Bella's facade was beginning to crumble - it was obvious through every hysterical word that fell out of her mouth. She had waited all week long for this night, counting down breaths, skipping down the sidewalks instead of walking and subconsciously bobbing her head to a scrolling jukebox of excited, hopeful songs running through her head. She even found the bright eyes and carefree smile she saw in the mirror so endearing, she'd sat for her own portrait.

No pointed ears, no whiskers, no pink bow. No snarky undertones. Just Bella.

It was the first non-Dot piece she had attempted in over two years.

And now she was just minutes away from meeting him. Maybe. If he showed up. And all of the many happy happy joy joy's of the past seven days were quickly crashing down inside her head. She avoided eye contact as she reached for the ketchup bottle for a refill, determined to reel herself in.

Rosalie cleared her throat and slid her arm gently across the table, landing it halfway across and holding her hand palm-up as if to accept Bella's hand inside it. She paused for a long moment, looking intently into Bella's eyes.

"Bella, listen. This may not be the best time to talk about this, but I have been avoiding it for days because you've been in such a good mood and I didn't want to spoil it. Now I'm regretting it. Now you're in a totally weird mood and I'm up against a wall here and I wish I'd just said it before. When you were normal," she paused, "or you know, sort of, above normal, for you."

Bella's arm froze in midair, leaving the ketchup bottle tilted downward. Everything in the room seemed to have come to a sudden halt, aside from the slow, lava-like flow of goop falling from from the classically-designed bottle. She knew exactly what Rose was about to say. They had officially arrived at the moment she had been dreading for months, ironically situated just hours before the moment she'd been counting down every single breath to for the last seven days.

"Emmett and I have looked at a couple of apartments."

You know those moments in your life? The ones that you can see coming from a hundred miles away, but when they arrive, right there in front of your blanching face, your body and mind reacts as if they're experiencing something completely new, completely unexpected? Something perhaps completely and horribly tragic? Something gruesome? Something you'll be repeating over and over to your therapist for years to come?

Yes, well, that was one of those moments.

Rosalie stared down uncomfortably at her hand. "Bella."

Bella didn't move. Rosalie's lips pursed.

"Bella. The ketchup."

She broke from her trance and looked down, a growing lake of the red stuff quickly taking over her plate. She simply sat and watched it pour for a moment as it eventually obscured the pile of eggs.

Huh. Who knew it could flow so fast once it got going?

As soon as the eggs disappeared completely, slathered in an ocean of red, she swallowed once and tipped the bottle upwards slowly, placing it quietly down on the table beside her.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I don't want you to feel like..." she started awkwardly before drifting off. This was clearly a doozie of a confrontation for her. Rose did not awkward easily.

Bella stared into Rosalie's eyes for a long time before she spoke. Rose's mouth opened once again to try and smooth over...

"Don't, Rose," Bella interrupted. At her broken silence, Rose's expression instantly transformed, mixing pity and relief. "Don't!" Bella insisted, fiercely this time. She watched her reaction. The expression shifted again. This time, love, admiration.

Bella seemed satisfied, and continued. "Do not be sorry. You know I love you. You know I love Emmett and you know that I knew that this was only a matter of time. Am I sad? Sure! Am I lost? Definitely! Am I going to miss living with your bubble bathing, hair straightening, avocado masking primpy-ass butt every day? You're Goddamned right I am! But I refuse to sit back and be stubborn, scorned little girl Bella and keep you from moving forward with your life," she spewed, pausing a moment with an ironic smile on her face. "If we hold each other back from that, then are we really friends at all?" Bella's chest heaved with emotion as her dark eyes stared intently across the table, her face stiff, severe.

Rosalie beamed at her as the tears broke through their dark blue barriers and fell delicately down her face, cascading like tropical waterfalls. And that is something you can only say about Rosalie, 'cause most people look like a dirty old shower stall when they cry.

"I tried to convince Emmett to let you live with us, but he insisted you wouldn't want to. I even sort of begged him," she laughed through her tears.

Bella shook her head in amusement, chuckling. "Rosie, I think he's good for you, but I could never live with that big oaf. The dude is huge - I cannot even imagine what his gas is like. Seriously. All I know is that I don't want to be anywhere near that morning pee."

Rosalie's eyes went wide and they were both silent for a moment before they collapsed in fits of laughter, each leaving their chairs in shuddering movements so they could meet in the middle of their tiny kitchen, and they hugged.

To celebrate Rosalie's big step forward. To celebrate Emmett's potentially horrific gas. And to celebrate this friendship that could and would withstand a difficult new living arrangement.

Bella could think more on that last bit tomorrow. But for now, the night still reeked of possibility, and even with everything that had just been upended in her world, her focus remained on the reek.

* * *

Ninety minutes later, Bella laced up her boots and slid on her coat, tossing her bag across her shoulder.

"I'm heading out," She called as she placed her hand on the knob, pausing for a moment for a deep breath. And a consideration.

Rosalie's head popped out of the bathroom. "You sure you don't wanna come along tonight? Just to hang out?" she asked sincerely.

Bella laughed. "No. I definitely don't."

"Okay," Rose responded. "Enjoy the coffee shop, then."

Bella stopped a moment, her hand on the knob, the door half open. "I'm disappointed in you, Rosalie Hale. Aren't you supposed to have my every number?"

Rosalie's eyebrows tweaked in confusion. She looked to her questioningly, her eyes politely beckoned, _wtf?_

Bella smiled at her in response. "I am not going to the coffee shop. I'm going to open mic. And I'm so freaking psyched about it that I might pee myself. Bye!"

With that she waved quickly once and slid out the door, slamming it shut behind her and giggling like a naughty teenager as she ran down the hall, skidding on a loose bit of carpet near the stairs.

She hadn't felt that....just...**good** in a long time. Not in a really long time.

She galloped down the sea of stairs leading to the door out, two at a time. Behind her she heard Rosalie tear open the door and yell down to her.

"Wait, Swanie! You little brat! Come back here!"

Bella giggled again, loud enough for her to hear as she coasted out the building's heavy exterior door. She knew that Rosalie had probably been in the process of deciding which pair of designer jeans looked best on her luscious hiney, and was more than likely wearing nothing but a bra and panties. She would not give chase, not in this neighborhood.

She was free.

* * *

It was utterly impossible to prepare for this while he was hyper aware of every movement that fluttered through the heavy curtain and into the room. He had arrived early on purpose, thinking it would decrease his chances of an impulsive escape attempt if he were already in the room when she arrived, rather than walking into a room where she was there waiting for him.

His eyes darting back and forth around the room, he awkwardly ambled over to the front table. The table from the drawing. He paused briefly, digging deep for a cleansing breath before shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the back of the chair.

Such a simple act, really, laying a coat over the back of a chair. For Edward, though, it felt like an embarrassing act of territorial dominance. _No, this is what normal people do_, he reasoned with himself, wiping his clammy palms against his jeans.

A drink. He needed a drink. He glanced at his watch and wondered how many he could fit inside him before her arrival. He didn't usually drink before performing, but this was sort of a...special circumstance. He hightailed it to the bar and ordered a Guinness and a shot of Makers Mark, downing the shot quickly and tossing down the glass on the bar top with a twenty dollar bill beside it. He started to turn away, thinking about picking his guitar up and finding a dark corner to hide in for a few minutes when he stopped short and turned back to the bartender. His breath stopped in his throat for a moment as he made eye contact with him. He recognized him immediately from last week - the same bartender who had delivered the drink and note. There was silence between them for a moment as Edward found the words he was looking for.

"Thanks," he finally muttered, the sound of his own voice surprising him. He nodded once and turned away, letting his cheeks inflate and forcing out a huge breath as he walked back toward the stage. If he was going to talk to Isabella tonight, he should probably practice speaking to others first. He wished he'd thought of that before now. Ordering food and drinks was something he had become accustomed to, but making niceties and following basic rules of social protocol, yeah...not so much.

Leaving his coat over the back of the chair at...their...table, Edward snatched up his guitar case and found a quiet spot near the front of the room, between the stage and the side curtain. He had decided to sing two simple songs tonight, songs he knew he wouldn't screw up. And perhaps more importantly, songs that wouldn't reveal too much of himself to her. One was about walking around in New York and the glory of knowing that no matter how many thousands of people you pass by on your journey, you probably have never seen that person before and will probably never see them again. The other was a cute little ditty about Alice and Jasper - he thought she would get an ironic kick out of it. These were safe songs. Songs he could play in his sleep. Perfect for tonight.

Minutes passed. The room filled with educated-looking hipsters, sloppily-dressed art students, proud families, kind friends, bored people. Edward remained snug in his quiet spot, plinking, plunking, and eyeing the front table every fifteen seconds. Aside from his coat, the ghost of him, it was empty. The space was growing loud with the chaotically layered sound of two dozen conversations happening all at once. Usually he didn't mind the noise of bars and clubs, but tonight the sound of it was so confusing and so distracting for him, he abruptly forgot his chords, his lyrics, his name. He couldn't do this. He had to leave.

He stood, guitar in hand, making a grab for his coat. It wasn't too late.

And then quite suddenly, it _was_ too late.

She had pulled the curtain back with her hand and poked only half of her head over to the other side, scanning the room before she came in, but he saw her immediately. His heart stopped. His blood raced. How the two were happening at the same time was beyond him. Her hair was in a high ponytail with loose curls hanging around her shoulders. She wore a large pink bow at the top of her head. Polka dot, of course. He gasped out a laugh at the sight of it, only then realizing that he hadn't been breathing. She was there.

As she stepped in, the lights went down and the announcer took the stage to announce the first act of the evening, but Edward never took his eyes off of her as she brushed off her skirt and straightened her bow. His stomach turned and he smiled to spite it. She stood on her tiptoes, her body waving back and forth a bit as she looked toward the front of the room. As soon as she saw the front table saved for her, she bit down on her lip as she grinned and bounced toward the bar, all while removing her coat and digging into her bag. She was ordering the beers. And she looked happy.

Did everything this girl put to paper just come to life like this? He suddenly felt like a jerk for not wearing the checkerboard shirt as his feline counterpart had been wearing. At the time he thought it'd be too hokey. Now that it was too late, he regretted it. Mistake number one. Of likely many.

Across the crowded room, Isabella shared a moment with the barkeep, leaning in far across the bar and asking him something that made him smile and nod, gesturing towards the front table where he had set his coat. Jesus, that seemed like hours ago he'd done that. She laughed once and nodded her head enthusiastically, holding up her palm to him for a high-five that he quickly answered. Edward felt a pang of shame at the ease in which they interacted with one another, knowing it could never be like that with him.

Holding the two beers in one hand above her head, their necks crossed, she wound her way across, closing the distance between them and stopped short as she arrived at the table, staring at the empty chair with a look on her face that he couldn't identify. Her former exuberance washed away, replaced with...uncertainty. With a shaky hand, she set the beers on the table. Their table. She was nervous, he realized incredulously, his mouth hanging open in shock. What could she possibly have to be nervous about?

A sudden vision of himself cowered up against his cubicle with a horrified grimace on his face as she half hung over the edge of the cubicle wall, brown eyes wide and humoured, her telephone headset swaying back and forth along the padded surface flashed through his head. Oh.

A second vision rolled through, crackled like an old black and white film reel, this time of his panicked and flailing body sprinting out the fire door of the Blue Mango and down the cold sidewalk as she stared on, confused and concerned. Right.

Yeah. He hadn't exactly set a high standard for shared company thus far. Her very presence in the world had occupied so many of his thoughts over the last weeks, it was difficult for him to remember that she had absolutely no idea that she had become the strange and unlikely center of his universe.

She stood still beside the table, staring at his coat, that same strange look on her face. Years passed. Well, it was probably something more like a few seconds, but truly, it felt like years. He released a long held breath when finally she sat down, tweaked her bow again and then spent an inordinate amount of time fussing with the placement of the beers on the table, inching them this way and that until they were sitting exactly as they had in her drawing. This girl was unbelievable.

It was then that she finally looked up and around the room, wondering where he might be.

It was then that he ducked his head down towards the side of the stage so she wouldn't see him.

Shit, reflex.

* * *

She couldn't even describe the feelings that pulsed through her as she stepped up to the only empty table in the entire room. The front table, reserved just for her, marked with a gray woolen pea coat. She wanted to reach out and tap the button on the shoulder with her fingernail, just once, to prove to herself that it was real, that this was really happening. But she was afraid that he might be in the room somewhere watching her, so she resisted, choosing instead to stand there like a zombie, nervous as hell and probably blocking the view of the stage for several of the nice patrons of the North Star.

If she sat, would the rest unfold just as she'd drawn it? And what of the moments after the drawing? She didn't have anything mapped out beyond that one frozen moment. She immediately wished she'd done a whole series of drawings that outlined her wishes for the entire following year. It was proving already to keep herself remarkably goal-oriented.

She sat, brushing nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt. Someone was on the stage, singing or something, but Bella really had no idea what was happening around her. She was too busy making tiny adjustments to perfect the scenario, to make it as true to the invitation as possible, as if it would somehow help her figure out what the hell to say when he was sitting across from her. _"Hi, thanks for meeting me here tonight. I've been exclusively absorbed with measuring the exact angle of your jawbone since we were last left gawking at one another. Do you like fried chicken?"_

She sighed. Her imaginary conversations with him were always so embarrassing.

When she was finally satisfied with the positioning of the Guinness labels in accordance to the angle of the chairs, adjusting for acceptable awkward first date-ish legroom, she lifted her head. Where was old Harried Houdini, anyway?

A flash of motion in the corner of the room caught her in the peripheral; her eyes narrowed. And she smiled.

* * *

He'd been completely unable to concentrate on even the simplest of pre-performance logistics with her sitting there, wearing that ridiculous and adorable bow in her hair, pretending to watch the first two acts. She took frequent, small sips of her beer, always taking care to replace it to the exact same spot on the table. Somehow, realizing she was nervous didn't make him feel better - it only made him more nervous.

In about sixty seconds, he would be on that stage before her. It was time to go through his short and easy-to-remember mental checklist: Guitar. Huh? Pick. A what? Stool. Wait, what's the stool for again?

Someone was on the stage, chattering about something. Or someone.

"Edward Masen."

Yeah, that was him.

His name sounded strange and obscene amplified throughout the room, unfamiliar. He had always used a fake name for open mic. Until tonight.

The girl straighted her shoulders, tall and bright, and she clapped delicately. He felt like a stranger to this whole scene, but he simply had no choice anymore. He simply did not have any more flight in him.

Sitting on the side of the stage and swinging his legs up under him, he lifted his guitar strap over his shoulders and walked tall across the stage, his steps echoing as the room settled to a dull rumble of conversation as they patiently waited for him to get settled. He grabbed a lone stool sitting near the back of the stage and set it down two feet behind the mic stand with a clunk, leaning down to pick up the cable from the floor and plugging it into his guitar before sitting down and settling his boots on the first set of rungs. And he managed to do all of it without once looking down at the front table.

_I think can do this_, he realized. If he didn't look at her, it could be like every other time. He remembered suddenly that he hadn't been on a stage in a month. A month! He'd been so worked up over the stress of the meeting that he hadn't given a thought to the release he was about to experience up there. He felt it already even, uplifted just in the simple act of adjusting the height of the microphone. God, it felt good to be up there again. And he hadn't even struck a note yet. _I think i can do this_, he repeated silently, gaining confidence. _Just as long as I don't..._

Of course, the very thought of it was enough to make his traitorous eyes flicker downward, and of course, she was there, gazing up at him. His breath hitched as they locked eyes, staring - as was their way. For some reason he was surprised at her expression. She didn't seem anticipatory or anxious, as if she was waiting for something to happen; waiting for him to give something to her. Instead, her eyes were full of an encouragement so warm and sincere, he felt like she were up on the stage beside him.

Without breaking the gaze, and before he even realized what was happening, before he told his brain what to do, his fingers began to play. And just like that, his carefully formulated plans to make life easy on himself and not reveal too much went up in smoke, dispersing around him; and the song that had thus far only serenaded the wind found its target. It was her song. And whether he liked it or not, he was there, in the midst of a strange and very private moment, all while singularly spotlighted and mic'd up in a room full of people. Hell. Heaven.

He hadn't realized how irritatingly _pretty _this riff was until just now...he had a fleeting thought to perhaps be embarrassed by it, but it was too late, he was already gone.

_Can you hear me  
Are you out there __  
__If there's still a line between us __  
__Then i will find my way __  
__  
How did you see me  
When i was invisible __  
__How did you touch me  
When i was unreachable __  
__  
Between the wall illusions fall  
I saw it in your stare  
Will you meet me there _

_Aren't you afraid __  
__That i am so breakable __  
__How do you know me __  
__When i work to fake it all __Can you hear me  
Are you out there __  
__Would you trust me if i claimed __  
__This is to protect you _

_Between the wall illusions fall  
I saw it in your stare  
Will you meet me there _

_Infinite flowers __  
__One sits taller, brighter, better __  
__Turning from its sun and onto me _

_Between the wall illusions fall  
I saw it in your stare  
Will you meet me there_

Reality, snap. Edward's heart hammered in his ears as he fought to recall the last three minutes. He glanced down to the table without a clue as to what he might find there. Isabella sat motionless, agape. Her eyes were intense, and he suspected a twin set to his own. There was no way he was going to play the silly cat song now. Not a chance in hell.

He stood, forcing himself to remember how to walk with each step he took towards the edge of the stage. Towards her.

It was just as well that his body and mind were a in a gelatin state, because any deeper awareness would trigger fear which would trigger flight. And for once in his life, Edward was not in any shape to flee. He needed to sit. And he needed a beer. Thankfully, he knew exactly where to find both.

He flung his guitar into its case with a disjointed chime and quickly fastened one latch, marveling in his own hurry. Three and a half steps later, he stood with his hands grasping the back of his chair, the wool of his coat hot under his already sweaty palms. After a beat, he lifted his eyes to meet hers. Her mouth was still ajar, though she closed it - with apparent effort - after a moment. Seemingly out of the need for something to do, she reached up slowly and touched her bow, as if to make sure it were still there.

In a matching gesture, Edward reached into his shirt pocket and retrieved his glasses, sliding them into place. She smiled.

He rounded the chair and dropped in, hunched and depleted, staring at his boots for a moment before grabbing the bottle in his fist and taking a long swig. Bella watched him cautiously, as if she were monitoring the behavior of a wild animal. She knew it was important that she break the ice, but wanted to make sure the timing was right.

As he lowered the bottle back down to the table, he leaned his head down close, placing it carefully and making a small adjustment to assure its former position before leaning back in his chair. She smiled again - he had been watching. She opened her mouth to blurt out God knows what...but it was Edward who spoke first, his voice quiet but clear.

"Hi."

"Hi."

**

* * *

**

****

A/N

**And…nine chapters later, they finally exchange words.  
****  
Dare I say it? I believe they're going to have a –gasp- conversation in Chapter Ten.**

****

**Thanks everyone for sticking with me during this super long update fail. Excuses are lame, so I'll make 'em quick – my son's birthday/Thanksgiving/work/life/Christmas, etc. etc…plus, this chapter was a mean old beast to work with - but I hope it finally came 'round in the end.**

****

**On Twitter? Follow me! realimaginary**

****

**Please, if you see or hear Little Slugger mentioned or recommended anywhere in the fandom, please let me know so I can send my thanks. TY!**

****

**xoxo**


	10. because

**Title: **_**Little Slugger**_**  
Author: realgirl-imaginarylife**

**A/N: Thanks, as always, to my wonderful beta girls, Tiffanyanne3 and Batgirl8968, my Twilighted validation beta Strider and special thanks to the wonderful SunKing, who helped this chapter along in many ways - as writing buddy, pre-reader and impromptu beta. Also, much love and thanks to all my very patient readers and to the late-night WC crew on twitter - cheers, ladies ;)**

**Song for this chapter is **_**Head On**_** by The Jesus and Mary Chain.**

**Nope, not mine.**

**********

Last time on Little Slugger...

_She opened her mouth to blurt out God knows what...but it was Edward who spoke first, his voice quiet but clear._

_"Hi."_

_"Hi."_

**********

**Chapter Ten - Because  
**

Following the liberation of those two long-awaited words, the silence between them loomed large and heavy like a wet snowdrift as Bella rifled through her brain, trying to think of something to say. She was reminded of the week previous when Rosalie had cornered her just a few yards from this very spot and asked what she was going to do when she found him. And when the time had arrived, just as she'd defended, Bella knew the answer was not to ambush him, but instead to hold out an invitation. Provide him with a choice.

And he had chosen. And now, after seeing him up on that stage and feeling the familiar fierceness of his presence as he'd sung that song...guh, that song. His words still bounced around breezily inside her head as she remembered the way his voice had...oh, his voice! So unique, so...rugged, like old leather - yet somehow at the same time smooth like the black beach stones that lay scattered across the shorelines of the Pacific Northwest. Like home.

_Meet me there_, he had said. Could he have been talking to her? Were they _there_?

She looked up at his agonized expression and then at the buzzing room around them. No, this did not feel like what _there_ should feel like.

Bella knew she had to say something. "Thanks for coming," she forced out without much thought, relieved as she felt the pressure gauge between them trip instantaneously with her words - sure she might even have heard a tiny hiss of air from its release. And God, how she hoped that sound was just her imagination.

He nodded numbly in response, staring intently at the ancient scar of a cigarette burn on the little table, black and round, the charred memento of another time. His head bobbed gently from the momentum of his initial motion - either agreeing with her or soothing himself, or both. He kinda looked like one of those perpetual motion dippy birds. Bella watched him with concern. He was uncomfortable.

How on earth could a man climb up on a stage and perform such beautiful, poignant, personal music in front of a room full of total strangers, tossing out raw pieces of himself to the crowd like beads from a Mardi Gras parade float, and then in the next instant be utterly unable to carry out a simple conversation with another person?

She smiled inside. That was the mystery of Edward.

Even with the mystery alive, she felt a pang of unwarranted sadness at the realization. It wasn't as if this kind of discomfort was at all outside his normal behavior, as far as she had witnessed - in fact, it was dead on par with his M.O., but still, his obvious discomfort brought the curtain down on her mood. Neither the hair bow, nor the glasses, nor the perfect positioning of beer bottles alone was going to make this right. This was going to take work.

It suddenly became a very distinct possibility that finding Edward was going to be the easy part of this little adventure.

After a few seconds of his trademark tension, Edward turned his eyes slowly upward to meet Bella's with intense resignation. Her smile reflex triggered, and his face, arms and shoulders softened in response. Her smile grew wider.

He was disarmed. Egads, and he was beautiful.

With a deep breath, he swept the bottle from its careful pose and drank until it was empty, placing it gently back afterward, a monument to this moment, whatever it was. He gazed at her a moment before clearing his throat to speak. And, like everything else with him aside from performing, the process was long and drawn out and with an amount of effort so concentrated it made her ache just watching him try. His lips twitched as he searched for words. Or summoned the courage to say them.

"Can I ask you a question?" he finally managed, his voice raw.

"Definitely," she said, her smile easing.

Edward paused a moment, his vacant eyes focusing somewhere beyond her shoulder. "Why....?" he asked before drifting off, making a broad gesture with his arm that spanned the room, eventually coming to a stop within the space that lay between them, his eyes teeming with vulnerability.

Bella gripped the edge of her seat tightly, denying tiny Nancy her indecent urge to reach to the table and take his hand.

_Why_, he wanted to know. And truly, had a more fair question ever been uttered in all the vast history of the incalculable universe? It was a question she had asked herself thousands of times, beginning the moment her mind learned to form the thought. And to be completely honest, probably a few times before that.

It was then that she did something she never dreamed she'd do in Edward's presence - ever - much less in the midst of the first moments of her first actual conversation with him; she summoned the ageless wisdom of her father, the chief. The single, once seemingly meaningless word had been his response to this very same question more times than she could remember:

_"Daddy, why is the ocean salty?"_

_"Why did Noodles have to die?"_

_"Why do you have hair coming out of your ears?"_

_"Why are we having pizza for dinner again?"_

_"Why did Mommy leave us?"_

She looked him square in the eye before answering, to be sure she had his attention.

"Because."

In turn, Edward did something unexpected as well; he laughed - loud and free enough for him to feel the need to throw his hands over his mouth in recoil. He released them slowly, shaking his head and nodding in amused understanding. Bella forced off a sudden twinge of insult. She was being completely serious, not to mention remarkably insightful, and he was sitting there _laughing_ at her?

Wait a minute... Had she actually made him laugh? The mysterious stone cold facade of Edward Masen was showing signs of weakness and he was having a chuckle at her expense? Well, alrighty then! Disgraced or not, this felt like progress.

He took a deep breath and grabbed his empty bottle, still shaking off whatever it was that had entertained him.

"If only anything were actually that simple," he said sadly, rising from his chair. Was he leaving? Her heart began to race, and she promised herself right then and there that she would never again use a Charlie-ism on a first date, no matter how appropriate it seemed at the time.

"Another?" he asked. Oh. He was heading for a refill. She blushed, doubting he'd notice in the dimly lit room.

She looked up at him, admiring, wondering. "I believe it is that simple sometimes. And God, yes, please."

Edward awkwardly reached across the table, clearly concerned with invading her territory, grabbed her empty bottle with a shaky hand and walked back to the bar.

She glanced down at her hand in her lap, lifting it up a few inches to check. Yes, she was still shaking too. The fact made her feel angry somehow, that two people couldn't simply sit across from one another and talk without practically going into heart attack. She wanted to be there and sensed that he did too. So why all the anxiety, uncertainty, tension?

She realized with embarrassment that she had been the one to invite him here and, in doing so, had truly believed she was prepared to carry him through what was likely to be a difficult risk for him - yet so far she had done absolutely nothing to quell the boundaries of his comfort zone. The second he'd started singing that song - that sacred, beautiful song that felt so vitally...important...to this time and place (and perhaps person?) - she'd felt her heart swell. And with it, apparently, also her brain.

It didn't bypass her notice that they had actually communicated better from across the room, while using no words at all.

Centering her head, she promised herself that the moment he returned, she would regain control of the evening and from this point forward would do everything she could to create a cozy little environment, perfectly perfect for building trust and friendship. 'Cause seriously, if this went sour, what the hell was she going to think and doodle about while tending to those awful phone calls at Vitamin Direct? Everyone in the office had their own coping mechanisms, and over the course of weeks, Edward had become hers.

She snuck a glance toward the bar, where the keep was grinning and talking easily to Edward, who responded with clumsy smiles and half-nods. The bartender's name was Dimitri, as she'd learned in her few brief interactions with him, and he seemed oddly in tune to the little waltz they'd been dancing together in this room over the last week. It was he who had recommended sending a drink with the note the week before (a good idea), and then later informed her of Edward's early table reservation as she arrived that evening (which had thrilled her). He'd actually seemed sort of excited to tell her about it, as if he were catching up on his favorite soap opera.

She daydreamed for a moment about becoming a bartender herself - feeling the God-like glory of playing a tiny yet pivotal role in the after-hours goings on in strangers' lives. The drama and heartache. The matchmaking. It was all starting to sound very exciting, until she allowed a vision of herself contained inside a small space with all of those bottles. The thought quickly fast forwarded to a flash of broken glass and the ghastly odor of a hundred unique alcohols pooling and mixing on the floor beneath her feet, her ankles bleeding through tall knee socks, and her front teeth indenting deeply into her bottom lip as her wide eyes repentantly announced "Oops."

It was a true miracle that no one had yet been stabbed in the eye by her beloved pencil, the mighty Dos. Bella was reminded suddenly of the time Charlie had tried to convince her to switch to pastels. Connection?

The mild grit of a polite throat clearing startled her from her thoughts and she looked up, surprised to see Edward standing beside the table, shuffling between his feet with two bottles occupying his hands.

"Oh! Hi!" she blurted, staring at him dumbly and already breaking her promise to take control and make the evening right.

"Um...I'm back," he muttered, again seeming to struggle with personal boundaries, afraid to lean across her to place her bottle before her. She saved him the stress by reaching out for it, still marveling at her near supernatural ability to transport time and space - and apparently also hearing, vision and basic spacial awareness - during one of her little "when i grow up..." fantasies. Funny how they always seemed to take a strangely violent turn in the end, leading to the conclusion that perhaps growing up was a dangerous activity indeed, and must be avoided at all costs.

As she watched him settle back down in his seat in an unsettledish way, Bella refused to sit across from him gawking for another second. She flung her elbows up onto the table and rested her chin on top of her crossed hands. This time when she spoke, she felt solid, confident. It was time to end the nonsense, no matter how good they were at it.

"You left work," she said.

He seemed confused by her sudden change of tone. "Wait, what?"

"You left work. That's 'why'."

Edward lifted his eyebrows and looked directly at her, tensing. "And?"

"And I felt…bad…Like I was somehow responsible. And I just wanted to make sure that you were…okay," she said, lacing her fingers together and switching them back and forth between the crevices in her hands. "And I think it might also be possible that I was..."

He sat tapping his foot incessantly under the table while he waited for the rest, watching her carefully.

"Curious," she finished with a whoosh of breath.

His brows knitted in confusion. "Curious?"

She finally looked up, met his stare and spit it out. "About you."

Edward chuckled darkly and shook his head no, in reference to what, she wasn't exactly sure. He placed his forearms on the table, clamping his hands together and leaned forward, nearly breaking the plane of the table's center, without breaking eye contact. "So," he said, almost amused. "Are you more or less curious now that you've found me?"

Encouraged by his lighthearted question, Bella laughed. A big, sudden bark of a laugh that might scare a small animal or child, or a very sensitive former coworker, if they were close enough.

"You know what I feel like right now?" she began, leaning forward with her hand on her beer. "You know the cartoon where Wile E. Coyote nabbed the Road Runner after all that time chasing, and all those many, many plummets down off cliffs and into crevices of the canyon?"

He watched her, incredulous. Where was she going with this? Surely her search hadn't involved high speed chases and mail order explosives?

She continued. "And when he finally caught him, he held up a sign that said _NOW WHAT DO I DO?_"

He nodded once, his eyes wide and disbelieving.

"Well that's me right now," she said proudly, holding her arm up to her side as if she had brought the sign along for display purposes.

Edward's careful eyes moved purposefully to the vacant piece of air where the invisible sign glared at him, and then back to her, as she slowly lowered her hand back to her lap.

"Granted," she continued with less volume. "Wile E. searched for the Road Runner for, like, decades, and it only took me a couple of weeks to find you, but…yeah..." She trailed off, ceasing her ramblings and reaching for her beer, taking a long draw from it. The bottle landed back onto the table with a loud clank. It was nowhere near its allotted spot.

She leaned forward and searched his eyes.

"Edward," she hissed, "I hated the thought that you left because we saw you at the Blue Mango. I couldn't live with it! It was...amazing, seeing you there. Everyone thought so. Everyone was so damned impressed by it. By _you!_ I wanted you to get the chance to know that. You deserve to know that." Her face and tone softened, but retained its insistence. "You didn't need to leave, Edward."

Edward squeezed his eyes closed; the rest of his body stiffened in alliance.

"I did."

"You were actually really good at that stupid, crappy job...you know that?"

"I know."

"So obviously this is something that you're sensitive about. I get that, Edward. But to quit? Was it really your only option?"

"It was."

"I don't understand."

"I never meant for you to."

"But you decided to meet me here tonight."

"I did."

"Why?"

He grabbed two fistfuls of hair and dragged them upward as he leaned back into his seat. Miraculously, it stayed in place like meringue as he drew his hands away. He looked utterly exhausted as he stared into her with a depth so potent she felt swallowed.

"Because."

**********

**A/N This chapter was initially going to have two parts, but I bailed after the first half, badly wanting to get something out to you guys...I think it may work better like this anyway. I'm in a better balanced place in finding time to mom, work and write - and I know exactly what's going to happen next, so I'm putting a two-week deadline on the next chapter. That is a promise! Thanks for hanging in there with this story - it means more to me than you know. xoxo.**


	11. impossible

**Little Slugger - Chapter 11 - Impossible**

**Author: realgirl-imaginarylife**

**A/N: Many thanks to my amazing Project Team Betas, TiffanyAnne3 and Batgirl8968 and my Twilighted Validation Beta Strider. Song for this chapter is **_**We're Going to be Friends**_** by The White Stripes.**

**No, not mine.**

**

* * *

**

Edward stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, instinctively lifting his shoulders upward towards his ears in response to the night's cold air. Bella noticed that she was doing the same. What an odd little human response that was.

They walked together in silence for a few minutes, breath forming billowing clouds of steam and the late-night semi-hush of the city keeping them each to their own thoughts. Bella had walked three paces too many before she realized that he had stopped at the top of a staircase leading down below the city. She tured back.

"This is my train," he said, masnsaging his knuckles.

Bella pillaged through her sleep-needy brain, desperate to think of something she could say to assure that the night would end on a positive note.

"Let's go somewhere," she blurted, surprising even herself.

Edward's eyes jerked up in shock. "Go somewhere? It's almost two o'clock in the morning!"

"And I know for a fact you have no where to be tomorrow," she challenged.

"And I know for a fact that you do," he said pointedly.

Waitaminute, was Edward being feisty?

Bella pushed back. "Did you miss the memo? Ohhhh, right, you did. Tomorrow is 'Bring Your Pillow to Work Day.'" She grinned at him, hiding her desperation. "Please?"

She may have been feeling afraid that she'd never find him again if she let him disappear. He may have been feeling similarly. Edward sighed.

"Isabella, I don't know...I..." he trailed off, tracing the length of a deep crack in the sidewalk with the toe of his boot.

Bella froze. Had he just called her Isabella?

Even as her heart soared, she choked back a giggle, realizing that he probably only knew her name from the Vitamin Direct phone extension list, or perhaps her cubicle nameplate, both of which addressed her in the formal. She swallowed hard, refusing for one second to make him feel stupid after all his hard work tonight. In the back of her mind, she noted that as far as she was concerned, he could call her anything he wanted - Hound Dog, or Chi-Chi, or Spike - if it made him more comfortable around her.

"I just don't feel like going home. Not yet."

"Where are you suggesting we go?"

Bella turned around in a circle, watching the buildings and the starless sky whiz by as the cool air pierced her cheek, taking in a 360 degree scan of the area. Several blocks away, she spotted the tiny, bright glow of an animated neon sign, but couldn't quite read it from their vantage point. She looked back to Edward, her eyes devilishly bright, and then took off briskly in the direction of the colorful light, walking with purpose.

Edward did and did not want to follow her. Miraculously, up to this point he had managed to get through the entire night without fleeing. Or dying. Or making a terrible ass of himself. Elongating the evening only increased the chances of any one of the three, if not something worse.

He stood helpless, watching as she bounced down the sidewalk, only once turning back, flashing him an expectant grin. The sight made his heart feel hard, heavy, and like no matter how much he tried, he couldn't possibly pick it up and lug it to where she was. And might never be able to.

"Wait."

She stopped, impatiently jogging in place, determined to continue on despite his neuroses. Her eyes were so full of wonder and excitement. She cared not that it was the middle of the night or that they were standing there in impasse in the middle of a cold, smelly New York City street. She cared not that he was probably the single most ungracious company she'd ever kept. She cared not that he was stalling while she was diving in. And he envied her more in that moment than he had envied anyone in a very long time.

Her eyebrows were raised, waiting.

"I...I just feel like..." he trailed off, not even remotely close to finding the words he'd been searching for.

"You done with all that?" she asked gently. She waved her hand. "C'mon."

He watched as she turned, prancing towards the light in the distance with such a careful precision it was almost as if she were performing a choreographed scene from a musical. His script must've been lost in the mail though, because with zero certainty - and zero grace - he stumbled along several yards behind her, unaware of if or how or why he had even agreed to this ridiculous plan.

He met up with her a few minutes later, blocks from where they'd started.

First he saw her, gazing upward with wide, excited eyes, a huge grin, and the eerie glow of neon light reflecting off her face, animated shadows dancing across her nose and cheek. Lovely.

Second, he tore his eyes away, sending them to see what she was staring at, and in that moment nearly turned around, looking for traffic to run full speed in front of.

The green and pink lights were forged in the shape of bowling pins, with large blinking letters to the side - B-O-W-L. And the number 24. As in twenty-four hours. As in open all the time. As in, open right now.

"No," he said, shaking his head vehemently, "No. No way. I...I have...stuff...stuff I need to do."

"Stuff?" she said. "Like what? Polish your boots? Clean your sink? Write a new song? Come, Edward, let's go write a song about the time you bowled in the middle of a Wednesday night. With me!" She held the door open open with her foot, gracefully posing her arms as a game show prize girl might, presenting the way through.

Edward glanced down at his boots - they could use a polish. Despite himself, as he squinted beyond the dark threshold into the empty bowling alley, he couldn't help but feel a bit like a field mouse staring into the open mouth of a hungry viper.

* * *

You're losing. Miserably." He shook his head with disbelief, surveying their score sheet like an eager first-year accountant.

"I love losing!" she shouted loudly enough to produce an echo, before winding up enthusiastically to roll her ninth gutterball of the evening. He tried to hide his responding smile with his teeth, but she caught a glimpse of it. "Admit it," she prodded, "you're having fun!"

It appeared that he was, actually. The mood between them had lightened; the air lean and light.

He shook his head, smiling, and looking away from her. Over the course of the evening, she had decoded that was his way of telling her that he was so very sure she didn't know the half of it.

"I haven't been bowling since..." as he searched for words, his eyes found something very far away - much farther than the cinder block walls of the bowling alley. "Not for...years," he finished simply with a deep breath.

Bella grabbed a cheese snack from the noisy foil bag on the table between them and paused dramatically, leaning towards him and ushering the unnaturally orange stick towards his mouth. His lips pursed in revolt, eyes widening as his back pushed back as far as it could into his seat. Half of her mouth tipped upward in a grin as she leaned forward towards him, holding it, unshaking, near his face, awaiting his trust.

"Cheese curl?" she asked innocently, her eyes dancing.

Edward swallowed obviously and opened his mouth, only barely enough for it to fit through. It was an act of pure surrender that he was completely unready for, but for some reason he appeared to be going through with it. After several seconds of some of the most painful anticipation he'd ever felt, the snack a mere centimeter from his trembling lips, she quickly flicked her wrist and snatched the snack back, crushing it solidly between her own teeth with a crunch, rogue shards of orange corn bits flew like tiny fireworks.

She was appalled at herself for torturing him but played it off, winking at him before swinging on the ball of her slippery rented bowling shoe and turning away from him. She jogged back to the lane and pressed her thumb on the alley reset button. The button required a surprising amount of force and she was nearing a blister. It hurt so good.

"You're up, champ," she told him, feeling equal parts humiliated and victorious.

He was sitting motionless in the scorekeeper's chair with his pencil elevated in mid-air, captured agape like an ancient statue in a museum of rejected art. Bella took a moment to let him unfrazzle, continuously fishing snacks out of the bag in nervous repetition.

He stood stiffly, as if he were wearing a full-body cast, and ambled over to pick up his ball from the corral. He stood a few feet from the lane, overconcentrating. He took two fluid steps and swung his arm behind him...

"Edward, why open mic?" she blurted loudly with her mouth full, interrupting his stride at the peak of the windup. His bowling arm froze out straight behind him as he let out an audible gasp, until the weight of the ball became too much and it swung down to his hip .

Her head was cocked neatly to one side. She was honestly curious. Her timing dubious, her intentions pure.

His eyes locked onto hers. "What?"

She spoke slowly and softly, like a preschool teacher. "How did open mic night become your 'dirty little secret?'"

At first Edward stiffened, his lips pursed. She felt like she could almost see his heart hammering in his chest. But after a moment, he sighed and shook his head a few times while spinning his ball around between his hands, watching the aged marble pattern dance under his eyes. Without answering her question, he turned back to the lane, wound up and released the ball, knocking down eight pins. She quietly applauded his success as he waited in still silence at the ball return.

He was wildly picky about which ball he chose. She just grabbed whatever was prettiest.

Neither of them moved while he waited. It was the longest ball return in history. They each had moments of wondering if the machine might be broken. But no, after some time it came home to him. He took a deep breath and grabbed it, moving his body methodically, like a robot that (for whatever reason) had been designed only for bowling. With great precision, he sent the ball down the lane, leveling the last two pins and securing his spare. Bella again applauded, adding a little "Woot", then shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

The late hour and lack of proper nutrition was definitely impeding her ability to pay proper respect to the Mister-Supernaturally-Sensitive thing he had going on.

He walked with his eyes watching the floor in front of him as he turned back. He slowed to a stop in front of her, flopping heavily into the pink plastic chair connected to hers. He looked over at her, the purple circles under his eyes accentuated by the poorly lit alley. He never looked more tired than he did when he was about to open up to her.

They were quiet for a moment while Edward entwined and re-entwined his fingers, and Bella adjusted and readjusted the Velcro on her shoes. She leaned back in her seat and ran her hands through her hair, a stray lock falling in her eyes. She looked over at him and smiled, blowing it away dramatically.

Edward didn't return her smile, but he did finally answer her question.

"My songs," he started, squinting at his hands. "They don't feel...finished...until they've been heard."

Bella had to work to restrain the width of her smile as she held out a figurative fist bump to her sleuthy little friend, Nancy. A clue. A good one.

"I understand," she said.

"Do you?" he asked solemnly, doubtfully.

"I think I do," she nodded. "Enough, at least, to know that I should skip the part where I ask you a series of follow-up questions about the fact that you want your songs to be heard, but not by anyone who knows you...or, since we're on the subject...about why you don't seem to want anyone to know you at all."

He cringed as a parade of emotions marched through his heart. The defensive brass band; the sad waving pageant queen; the blaring, mortified fire trucks; the angry clown lugging an arsenal of over-sized balloons; and leading the whole affair with a tall black hat and a giant plastic grin - the scared-to-death grand marshall.

Bella watched the change fall over him and added quickly, "I know I ask far more of you than what I've earned, Edward. I'm sorry. I sometimes - or always - accidentally say out loud all those little thoughts about people that you're supposed to keep to yourself."

Edward found it in himself to laugh a little. He had already gathered that about her.

"No, you haven't done anything wrong. It's important to me that you know that. I haven't spent time, like this, like...friends...with anybody for so long and it's..." he sniffed loudly, grabbing at his hair, shaking his head and rolling his eyes up towards the ceiling. "I feel like what you need to know is that I'm just...I'm..."

She leaned in towards him, urging him to look back to her. When he eventually did, Bella saw that those tired eyes were now shielded by a layer of moisture. Her hand halfway reached out to him before she could even think to stop it, frozen in the air midway between them.

"Shy?" she offered, slowly lowering her hand.

He shook his head slightly, looking down at her hand for a moment before turning back to her eyes.

"Impossible," he decided with a sad finality.

With no pause, she stood up, shaking her head. Her eyes blazing.

"No. NO. Impossible? You?" She looked down at him, speaking as if she may have some authority on this particular subject. "God, Edward, nothing is impossible. Do you wanna see? 'Cause I'm going to prove it to you right now."

She turned and walked confidently towards the prettiest ball she could find. It was pink with little sprinkled flecks of blue, white and yellow.

Bella took three strong steps, holding the ball atop her fingertips, her determined eye on the center pin. She stretched her right arm out behind her and swung it forward like a perfect pendulum, releasing the ball with grace onto the creaky floor. She watched as it rolled and rolled. And rolled. Again and again, the tiny flecks of color blended together, making the prettiest pink bowling ball look like a giant magenta gum ball from a machine sitting outside a big box store. It turned and turned across the wood planks, until finally it collapsed into the curvy white towers that stood there in anticipation, awaiting its arrival.

And down they fell.

Had she intended upon bowling a strike the moment she'd stood to defy him? Absolutely. Had she actually believed she would achieve it and validly prove her point? Hell no!

Leaping into the air herkie-style, she shrieked in celebration, attracting the annoyed attention of the very bored-looking attendant behind the front desk. In response, Bella sprinted from their alley up two stairs and across a sea of vintage deco-patterned carpeting to where the attendant sat on tall metal stool with a flattened pillow beneath his seat, two-thirds complete with a advanced level sudoku puzzle. Bella held out her hand to him, anticipating a high five. Aside from glaring at her from beyond his low-resting glasses, he did not move a muscle.

After a beat, Bella slowly backed away, tip-toeing back towards Edward.

"Denied," she said under her breath.

The thick tension of just a moment before dispersed as Edward coughed into his hand, fighting to disguise his amusement. He marked an X on the score sheet in honor of her success as Bella plopped down in the chair beside him with her arms crossed on her chest, smug.

"Nicely done," he said with a subdued smile.

She remained stern. "Nothing is impossible," she announced. She watched his fingers as he retraced the lines of her strike mark, darkening them, lost in thought. "And furthermore," she continued after a moment, "And much more importantly, no _one_ is ever impossible." She glanced over her shoulder at the attendant, who was back to scratching out the numbers of his puzzle with a dull pencil. "'Cept maybe that guy."

At first there was a pause, very quiet like the last minute of deep sleep before the alarm sounds or the mutual quieting of nature just before a storm. But the moment they caught each other's eyes again, the well-laid wall between them very suddenly teetered, then collapsed, and they laughed. They laughed 'til their sides ached and their cheeks burned. They laughed 'til Bella slid right out of her molded seat and rolled onto the dusty wooden floor while Edward slapped his thighs, lost in hysterics. They laughed 'til the desk attendant lay his hand on the receiver, ready to call the police. The weeks of long-garnered tension between them was the fuel, and they just rolled and laughed, tears of whatever emotion streaming down their faces, until they both were running on mere fumes.

Afterward, they rested against their chairs in exhausted - and embarrassed - silence as their chests heaved, regaining heart rate and reality. Bella turned to him after a minute.

"You must think I'm insane. "

Edward guffawed, shaking his head. "No, I don't, actually. I find you...strangely easy to be around."

"So what are you saying? You think I'm strange or you think I'm easy?"

He seemed stunned for a moment as momentary shock grabbed hold of him. But he caught himself quickly and shook his head at her, incredulous. "Forget I said anything else. You are insane."

She smiled at him, her postgiggle glow in full force. But he watched her face fall as she saw through the glass doorway the black-fading-to-azure sky on the eastern horizon - the very beginnings of sunrise. "Shit. I really have to go," she said.

He nodded, fidgeting. "I know. You are going to have a terrible day at work tomorr..." he cringed. "Today."

"Please. At good old VD, every day is just varying degrees of terrible anyway. It was all worth it just for the strike." She smiled, recalling the glory.

He held up a rolled up scroll of paper. The score sheet. "You should take this, then."

She shook her head fiercely. "No way, that is yours. Hang it on your fridge. Let it remind you every morning before breakfast that nothing is impossible."

He smiled sadly at the reminder. "Fair enough." He reached into his pocket and pulling something out. "Take this, then. It's, you know, no big prize...but...you deserve to have a souvenir too."

Edward held out the piece of thin, smooth plastic for her to take from him. Bella's eyes went wide with realization that this was somehow the same night that he had sung for her at the North Star. It felt a million years and a million miles away. She reached for it, a little shudder of muted electricity flowing through her fingertips as they met his. She took a moment to admire her new treasure - a tiny orange guitar pick. It had once boasted the logo of the company that made it or the music store he'd bought it from, but it had long-since worn off, leaving behind only a few speckled fragments of black ink. It was perfectly perfect.

"Thank you."

She meant it. He could tell.

* * *

As a heavy-lidded Bella slowly pulled herself up the steep stairs to her apartment, the events of the early part of the evening replayed in her mind. Soon, Rosalie and Emmett would move out and she'd have to move as well. Or find a new roommate. Based on what she was accustomed to, preferably someone who knew her better than she knew herself. Someone who could kick her straight in ass and make her feel like a superhero in the same breath. She sighed. It wasn't going to be an easy transition, but she was happy for her friend. Rosalie, unlike Bella, actually liked the idea of growing up, and before long she would be a wife and a mother.

_Or someone else's mother_, she thought as she turned her key gently, trying to be as quiet as possible. Rosalie wouldn't be up for work for another hour.

Or...so she thought.

Rosalie was sitting stock-straight on the center cushion of the couch. She was staring daggers at Bella. A bottle of wine and two glasses of wine were sitting on the coffee table before her, untouched. Crap. She might've been sitting there for hours. She took a few deep breaths before finally venting.

"Isabella Swan. Where have you been?"

Bella realized that was the second time in four hours that someone had called her "Isabella." Because noting random coincidences was far better than facing the wrath of Rosalie. She tugged on her ponytail holder, shaking her head and letting her hair fall across her shoulders. "Umm...at a bowling alley?"

She seemed surprised. "Doing what, exactly?"

She sorted through her mental list - bowling, laughing, teaching valuable life lessons, asking inappropriate questions, fussing with Velcro, carefully selecting vending machine fare, irritating sort-of authority figures...until finally, she settled on a response.

"The impossible, I think."

Rosalie considered that for a moment, then surprised the hell out of Bella by pouring two half full glasses of wine and patting the couch beside her.

"Well, in that case. Come here and tell me all about it, will you?"

As golden rays scaled the roofs of the neighboring buildings, casting long, early morning shadows across the room, Bella grabbed a glass and settled into the corner of the couch.


	12. if you build it, she will come

**A/N - First things first - I am for sale! For just $5, unlimited buyers ****will ****have ****the**** opportunity to read a 3-5K Little Slugger outtake from Edward's childhood**** through the The Fandom Gives Back fundraiser****. There will be some nice insight to where he came from, who he really is and how he landed in New York so many years later, a shell of the vibrant child he once was. **

**Special thanks to SunKing, who took pre-reading to a whole new level helping me with this chapter, and venis_envy, who helped me figure out what kind of music Charlie likes. Of course, eternal love and thanks to my wonderful Project Team Betagirls, Batgirl8968 and TiffanyAnne3 and my Twilighted Validation Beta Strider.**

**Song for this chapter is **_**There She Goes**_** by the La's. YouTube it if you don't know it already, or even if you do. So worth it.**

**

* * *

**

Little Slugger - Twelve - If You Build It, She Will Come

From the spot where she was lying on the floor, nestled between the sofa and the coffee table, the ceiling above looked like a mystical sky filled with puffy clouds of pink and seafoam green. Yellow ribbons made soft loop-de-loops, falling like rain from each of them. She reached up, pretending to catch it as it fell into her hands.

Miraculously, outside the bay window behind her head, the real, wet kind of rain that had fallen nonstop for weeks had dispersed, leaving behind tiny sparkling droplets on the drooping leaves that were at the very beginnings of slipping on their autumn brights. The rain had ceased and the sun broke through in time for the festivities, just as Charlie had promised her it would.

Well, he hadn't exactly promised per se; it was more like a doubtful, optimistic, calming sort of hoping. But whatever it had been, he had delivered in a very big way.

Charlie had boasted that he'd cashed in on some favor that Mother Nature had owed him as they'd stepped out onto the front porch that morning, Bella's round face beaming in fierce competition with the great shining star that showered yellow light onto them and everything around them. The dreary gray skies of Forks had parted ways and revealed their inner blue to celebrate_ her_. First the impressive complete ceiling balloon coverage, and now this? It was going to be the best birthday ever.

"Your old man doesn't take this Greatest...um...est Birthday Wish thing lightly," he'd said, puffing up his chest, as if he actually believed he'd had something to do with the well-timed weather surprise. "I'm just glad you got your wish, Bells. You only turn ten once, and I think you deserve a lot more than just a sunny day." He was doing that shifting from one foot to the other and looking around at nothing thing that he did whenever he tried to say something sweet.

Bella had smiled at him, adjusting the large bow she had clipped in her hair that morning. The bow she'd been saving special for this day for months. She added extra teeth to the smile, even, in hopes that Charlie wouldn't realize that the sunshine had actually been her _second_ Greatestest Birthday Wish.

She had not confided the real wish. That was her most closely guarded secret.

She'd quietly mouthed "Thank you" to the Earth for its gift, said a little prayer for the real Greatestest Wish, and then turned to go back inside. Girl had a party to throw. And everything had to be perfectly perfect, just in case.

As Bella lay on the living room floor, admiring the balloons, she came up with a magnificent plan in which to display the ginger ale.

She inched her way out of her cozy nook, again adjusting the bow in her hair - which was, just so you know, the perfect shade of pink - and marched her way into the kitchen to begin the implementation of the great ginger ale plan. She figured, with spillage allowance, she would have just enough time to finish before her friends began to arrive.

"Well, hello birthday girl!" Mrs. Cope's voice boomed like a tuba through the tiny kitchen. Mrs. Cope was Charlie and Bella's next door neighbor - a kind, plump widow with a big fluffy perm and a mole on her chin with three coarse white hairs tangling out of the center of it. Charlie had instructed Bella to pay special attention to looking at her eyes instead of the mole, but it was not easy. Sometimes, Bella's eyes would cross with the sheer concentration of the whole affair, and Mrs. Cope would ask with concern if everything was okay, to which Bella would respond that she was fine, it was just her indigestion acting up. She didn't know exactly what indigestion was, but Charlie sometimes mumbled about it when he had that uncomfortable sort of look in his face.

Mrs. Cope always appeared at the house whenever anything remotely girly was happening at the Swan residence. Bella thought she helped Charlie sort through his girl parts allergy. Plus, Mrs. Cope's children were already grown up and living in Seattle, and it seemed like she enjoyed the feeling of being put to use.

"Enough balloons in there for you yet?" she asked with a smile, obviously having overheard the ongoing battle between Charlie and Bella that morning about how much soaring latex in the living room was enough/too much.

Bella grinned at her. "It's _perfect_! Like a cotton candy sky!" she said dramatically with her arms swooping through the air. She could feel the muscles in her eyes straining as they began moving down Mrs. Cope's face without her permission. _Look away from the mole, Bella_. She quickly squatted to the floor and opened the nearest cupboard and began rifling through it.

"The real sky had something else in mind for you today, though, didn't it?" she said knowingly, cutting a tray of her infamous (-ly awful) mystery layer bars into squares. Charlie and Bella always took turns choking down a bar and then going on and on about how deliciously delicious it was, and please could they keep the whole tray full as long as they promised to return the dish clean? Of course, they would throw them in the garbage after she left. Technically, it was Bella's turn today, but she was hoping Charlie would take the fall, seeing that it was her birthday and all.

Mrs. Cope really was a special person in their world. But man, those bars were terrible.

"Yeah," Bella said, smiling and glancing out the window. She could see her father outside mowing the lawn. She was startled and thrilled yet again to see those rare, warm rays streaming in through the treetops. She realized quite suddenly that she was beginning to feel nervous. The sun had set a very strong precedent for the remainder of the day. A butterfly city was being built very efficiently somewhere in the pit of her belly. "Have you seen the pink cups?" she asked Mrs. Cope. "I cooked up a brilliantly brilliant idea for a display on the cake table." _Her eyes, Bella, look at her EYES_.

"Over there, dear. On the counter."

Sure enough, there they were, in two equal towers. Paper cups _almost _the same shade of perfect as the bow in her hair. She scooped up the matching stacks in her arms and trotted back to the living room, where Charlie had set up the table that usually only came out on poker night in the corner and placed a white paper cloth over it to hide the ugly chipped paint and drink rings. She set the cups down and breezed back to the kitchen, returning moments after with two 2-liter bottles of ginger ale, cold from the fridge.

Then she set to work on her project, her tongue poking out a bit in concentration. If she worked quickly, she would have just enough time. The doorbell would begin to ring in about twenty minutes.

* * *

On the evening of March 14, 1985, Bella's mother, Renee, slung a small bag filled with an assortment of mismatched clothing items over her shoulder and walked quietly out the front door, closing it gently behind her. She left behind a confused and heartbroken newly-wedded husband and a beautiful and needy six-month-old baby with a haphazard tuft of dark hair sitting atop her head.

Charlie, being Charlie, never chased after her or tried to hunt her down. Instead, he continued going to work, took the best care of that baby he could, with the generous support of friends and neighbors, and proceeded to make their home a living tomb to the memory of his sheer failure of a marriage. The only room that had changed over the years was Bella's, which changed with remarkable frequency. Everything else lay precisely as it had on that misty March night.

Wherever Renee ran off to, or whatever she did with herself after that was a mystery. In fact, no one in Forks saw or heard from Renee again until more than nine years later when she reappeared on that very same doorstep with a huge wrapped and ribboned package cradled in her arms.

* * *

"Umm...Shelly, did you tell her she could do this?" Charlie sighed, stroking his mustache.

Mrs. Cope stepped out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon in her hand. "Tell her she could do wha...?" she started, the arm holding the spoon dropping down towards the floor. Charlie raised his eyebrows. "Oh."

Bella was standing on a chair next to the card table, ignoring both of them, carefully placing the final piece of a ten-tier pyramid made of dangerously full paper cups of ginger ale, many of which depending upon surface tension alone to keep from spilling over. Her hand shook a bit as she made the landing, drew her hand away, and licked a sticky drip off the tip of her finger. Then she turned to her father and Mrs. Cope with wide, excited eyes, stepped down from her chair and stepped back a few feet to admire her masterpiece.

"Ta da!" she exclaimed, her arms thrown up into the air. At the shift of air in the room, both Charlie and Mrs. Cope tensed, but the structure remained strong. For the moment . Charlie was now kicking himself for not moving the party outside the moment the weather had turned. For months, Bella had been forming some very firm ideas about this party, and there was pretty much zero possibility she was going to let him nix this now. In short, the old man was a total pushover. "The top one is for me," she whispered to him.

"No running in the living room today, Bells, you understand?" he ordered, wondering if laying the old tarp from the shed on the floor would mess with Bella's color scheme.

Bella saluted him. "You got it, Chief!" Charlie had very recently been promoted at the department, and Bella found endless joy in teasing him about it. She skipped by him, onto her next task.

Charlie gulped and sighed. Technically, she had not been running.

Then, the first of several doorbell rings sounded out through the festive room. Party time.

As Bella's friends filtered in, she skipped about the room, bopping them on their heads with balloons and accepting gifts to deposit on the growing pile in the corner, occasionally taking a shortcut over the top of the sofa. The room buzzed with ten different conversations happening at once.

At 11:52 am, as one of Bella's friends spit a bite of mystery bar into a paper napkin, and Charlie and Bella jokingly argued about whether to put Johnny Cash or Ace of Base on the stereo, and Mrs. Cope began the careful placement of ten candles on a made-from-scratch chocolate cake, the doorbell rang.

Charlie didn't seem to think anything of it as she made her way to the door, but Bella knew that all of her friends from school had already arrived.

Her heart raced as she gripped the doorknob. As she clicked it open, she peeked through the sunny crack first, and then pulled the door open slowly and with effort, like it was under water. With the door fully ajar, all she could see from where she stood was a giant box with pink striped paper and a shiny silver ribbon on top. Two sets of fingers grasped it from behind. After a moment, a smiling, angular face peeked over the side of the box. The woman was in her late twenties or early thirties, with piercing gray eyes and full lips painted a vibrant red. She was pretty, eerily familiar, and at the same time frighteningly unknown.

Enough time had passed where the house had gone quiet around them, and as Charlie stepped to Bella's side, his footsteps sounded like echos from a thunderstorm in the distance.

They did nothing but stare at one another for a while. Bella had yet to even make the full realization that the practically fictional Renee had actually come to her party, had come back to her; that both Greatestest Birthday Wishes had actually come true for her on this day. But she noticed immediately that the warm sunshine from this morning felt far more natural than this did. The moment's deflating continued as Renee thrust the enormous package into Charlie's paralyzed arms and she squatted down in front of Bella, looking her straight in the eyes.

Nothing about this was the way Bella had dreamed it would be.

"Aww, brown. It figures," she muttered with humored disappointment, quickly glancing up to Charlie's gaping expression, and then back to Bella. As the room ceased to even breathe, Renee reached out carefully and touched Bella's temple with her pointer finger, drawing it down her cheekbone to the soft point of her chin, and then gently cupped her cheeks in both palms. "Hi, you," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Happy Birthday. You're _so_ lovely."

Nearly ten years of wondering, fantasizing, wishing, sleuthing, hoping, pining and missing had all come to this moment. Bella shook Renee's hands free from her face and smacked them away with fast, swinging hands like panic near a beehive.

Even though she knew precisely who this woman was, she was nothing but a stranger. The exact kind of stranger that Charlie had coached her away from since she was in diapers, complete with graphic flash cards and dated PSA videotapes.

She peered up to Charlie, begging him to do something. _Make it better, make it go away, make it something else, just make something happen!_ She pleaded of him, silently. But instead, he stood frozen, watching as the ghost of his past crossed paths with the angel of his present.

A throat cleared somewhere in the room. "Chief Swan..." awkwardly muttered the father of one of Bella's friends. She didn't look up to see who.

"Charlie!" pierced Mrs. Cope, who was moving through the room from the kitchen like a guinea pig, pushing people and furniture aside to get to the scene of the action.

Still, Charlie was motionless save his chest, which was heaving deeply as he stared down at the woman who knelt before his daughter. At one point something caught his eye that made his brow crease.

"Daddy…" Bella stammered out through clenched teeth, her hands in tight fists at her sides. Her eyes were squeezed into slits but she knew that Renee was still sitting there, examining her.

_Papa Bear instincts, activate! _It was the collective thought of almost every person in the room, willing Charlie to wake from his otherworldly stupor and help his poor daughter.

After a moment of a silence so tangible it could've grown legs and walked out the room on its own if it'd wanted to, Charlie finally snapped to action. He snatched Bella up into his arms and held her tightly, glaring at a surprised Renee.

Bella snuggled up against him, never taking her eyes off her father's expression as it morphed from shock to pain to utter fury. When his voice was rediscovered, he made a verbal lunge at Renee.

"Who do you think you are? Barging in here after ten years, uninvited, unannounced, and unwanted? In the middle of her birthday party! Are you _insane_?"

Renee flinched. She opened her mouth to defend herself but stopped short, looking to her daughter with pleading eyes. She seemed to be trying to communicate something to her that only she could respond to. Bella quickly turned away from her, rooting her face deep into Charlie's shirt.

Desperate to say something, but never able to put more than a few words together before the thought fell apart, Renee flailed. "Charlie, I...I didn't mean to...I thought that...I should have...Oh my God."

Unable to listen to another word, Bella squirmed in Charlie's arms, forcing him to set her back down to the floor. She gazed up at him gratefully for a brief moment, squeezed his hand once, and then without a sound, she strode out of the crowded room with wide, graceful steps, working her way towards the back frightened, staring friends and their sympathetic parents parted, creating a path for her. As she walked, she reached behind her and violently ripped out the pink bow, taking a chunk of hair with it, and flung it over her head the way a bride tosses her bouquet.

She whisked outside, not even hearing the chaos unfold behind her, and escaped into a grove of trees in the back yard, where a flood of tears finally escaped her. Bella had refused to let her see her cry. This Renee had not earned the rights to her tears.

If what happened back at the house as Bella made her exit had occurred in slow-motion, it might've looked something like this: A knotted pink bow flipping haphazardly in the air, loose strings dancing around it as it flew; Mrs. Cope's loose pink lips shaping out the word "NOOOOOOOO!" as she leapt forward in pure superhero fashion; Charlie shell-shocked, fixated on the unexpected house guest and completely unaware of the bow's trajectory; partygoers lifting their hands to cover their faces, as if to test the theory that if you did not see it happen, then it didn't actually happen; and then, of course, the impact. The bow hitting Bella's carefully crafted display approximately at the fourth tier; the cups on that level knocking sideways, taking the rest with them like an ocean wave, landing firm dents in the frosting of the now-ruined cake and dripping sticky sweet onto the pile of wrapped gifts that were stacked below the table.

But, since it happened in real time instead, it went something like this: Fling. Gasp! Smash. Splatter. Silence.

Mrs. Cope began herding up the gawking party guests and ushering them in a messy line out the front door, whispering too loudly about this being really the worst thing that could've happened on this particular day.

Only Charlie and Renee remained inside the house, standing at odds inside the same space where the hopeful beginnings of their life together had come and gone so fleetingly, so long ago. Bella's absence rang loud between them as they stood frozen in contentious silence.

Renee's eyes were glossed over with tears. She mindlessly grabbed at her face and shook her head no. "I shouldn't have come, Charlie, I'm...I am so sorry. I didn't realize that you...Shit."

Charlie grimaced at her in disgusted pity. "You're _sorry_, Renee?" He hunched a bit as if just the act of saying her name made him weak. "_Sorry?_ Listen, I don't care how flaky or quirky - or whatever it is you're so proud of being - you are, you _cannot_ leave a little girl behind with zero explanation and zero contact and then just march back one day and expect everything to be okay! Or _anything_ to be okay, for that matter!"

She stood defeated before him, a single tear falling from her left eye. Charlie followed it as it moved slowly down her face and settled into the crevice of her nose. "I'm just gonna go, okay?"

"No, Renee, not until I get my turn to speak. You never let me have my say before, so I'm going to make damn sure I get my chance now. Let me make this perfectly clear for you. You cannot come here, you cannot _touch_ her, you cannot show up here without being asked. Ever. Do you understand?" Renee nodded pitifully as he continued. "She. Does. Not. Know. You. And by the looks of it, I don't think she wants to." He was quiet for a moment as he looked at her with grave sadness. "And I can't say I blame her. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go find my daughter."

Charlie breezed past her, through the door and out into the yard to search for Bella, embarrassed in how much he had relished in the brief moment their shoulders grazed.

Alone in the house and caged in at all angles by bad memories, balloons, pink cups and spilled ginger ale, Renee swallowed hard, turned and left, exiting the house as quickly and quietly as she had the last time she had walked over the threshold of that same heavy wooden door.

From behind a large oak, Bella braved a peek with one eye as she watched her estranged mother's slim, youthful form walk away from her. Again.

It was then that she noticed the pink bow speckled with black polka dots that was holding Renee's dark blonde hair away from her face at the base of her neck. Her hand subconsciously raised to touch the tender spot on her own head. Her breath hitched.

That was the day that Bella discovered that what you think you want and what you actually want are not always passengers in the same car.

What Bella never told Charlie on that day or in all the years that followed is that, while Renee did arrive unannounced that day, she had indeed been invited.

* * *

**So, there you have it - a window into Bella's childhood. If you'd like to see the same for Little Slugger's Edward, all it will take is a single $5 donation to The Fandom Gives Back, Eclipse edition. Let's you, me****,**** and Specward kick childhood cancer's ass one o/s at a time, shall we? www - dot - thefandomgivesback - dot - com. Search for stories, realimaginary. Thank you all so much for your support!**


End file.
